Misadventures of the Mojave
by XxKonspiracyxX
Summary: Sandra's just a lone-wandering courier, distant from her past and suffering from memory loss. But when new friends arrive and power-grabs are made, her passion rises to the surface, as do all her old memories. Ring-a-ding-ding, baby. Showtime. {#2 of the Fallout Sandra Series}
1. (Author's Note)

_ From the author,_

First off, if you haven't read Legacy of the Capital, go to my stories and read that one first. That is the first story of the series, and this one will be the second.

Second of all, for all you return-readers… yes, I _did_ delete my previous Misadventures of the Mojave & Clash of Two Wastelands stories.

There are a few reasons for this. First off, I have been working on my own books and mangas for years now, among dealing with a lot of hard life changes… and I've gotten a lot better at writing. Looking back on my New Vegas stories, I am highly disappointed, and I intend to do them real justice now. This time will be the final attempt, and it will be a much better read, believe me. I'm pretty sure the Harry Potter stories and the others won't go anywhere… but Sandra's Fallout series is different. It holds a special place in my heart, one of the absolute earliest apocalyptic inspirations I've ever had. That's why it deserves a revamp.

This Fallout series will no longer be called the Capital Mojave Series. I'm gonna call it the Fallout Sandra Series from here on.

The reason I chose not to delete Legacy of the Capital is simple… because Legacy of the Capital is exactly what it's meant to be, a short novella, a prequel to the Fallout Sandra Series. It showcases Sandra's younger, more immature phase of life, and the childish writing style compliments that attitude of hers. But when Sandra begins anew in the Mojave, years have passed – she has changed and grown, just as my writing has. The leap in writing skill will compliment the leap in character & story development. Besides, I don't have the time or energy to rewrite the whole thing just to retell the same story.

But in the Mojave, Sandra's story _won't_ be the same as last time.

Some things will be the same, and other things will be drastically different. And ever since I finished four of my five books in the Doomsday Chronicles Series, I've gotten exceptional at writing apocalyptic worlds, diverse characters, and of course, our beloved Sandra.

I've been working very hard on my books, despite how fruitless it sometimes seems. It's my only skill, my only passion, and now, I have enough finished products to finally take a break. My editor will be polishing my work while I look for publishing companies, and in the meantime, I can return to a more relaxing project. An old favorite fanfiction.

I've been very sick recently, and it's made me very tired. I cannot siphon all my effort into my original works anymore (I've done enough of that for a while). While I try to get them published, I'll be here, writing fanfiction whenever I need a break from life. I feel that I've been trying so hard, and being so cynical about the whole ordeal, that I've forgotten how to enjoy the thing I love to do. I've forgotten how to enjoy story-telling. And, I feel very strongly that my Fallout series will resurrect that feeling for me. I'm not sure why, but I feel certain of it.

I feel terrible, and I'm hoping I don't pass away before all my stories are done. I just want to enjoy it all again, because that's the whole point of having a passion. Really, it's the only thing we can call a purpose in life, but let's get back on topic…

This time around, my Fallout series won't just be a place to dump random ideas and emotions. It will be an actual story, manufactured with actual effort, and hopefully, it will do my wild imagination justice this time. I've had a whole solo version of the courier's story in mind for many years now, and I want it laid out somewhere people can enjoy it, just like my other bizarre works.

Teaching lessons, forming bonds, and tugging heartstrings – that's what story-telling is for, not just earning money to survive. Focusing on a fanfiction will force that lesson back into my aching head.

Every story I tell is very important to me, and I will no longer treat my fanfictions like they are less than my original works. It all comes from the heart, and it's my only passion and my only talent.

But anyway…

If you'd like to show me a little support through this rough time, you can find my comics on webtoon! My Supernaturally series is on webtoon, and so is my apocalyptic series, Aftermath! Search for both of them on webtoon, and they'll pop up! Aftermath was originally inspired by a Fallout roleplay, and it features Niner as one of the main characters. If you like Fallout, you'll definitely love Aftermath!

If you like intense character development & supernatural events, you'll love Supernaturally!

And if you like apocalypse stuff, you'll also love my Doomsday Chronicles Series, starting with Doomsday by Design, which can be found on Amazon! Don't forget to check out my other works in between me working on fanfiction chapters!

BTW, the Doomsday Chronicles Series starts with a book called Doomsday by Design, featuring our own Sandra as the main character. ;)

But while the Doomsday Sandra's story is complete, the Fallout Sandra's story desperately needs a retelling, so let's get to it. I know New Vegas is old, but I'm simply not tired of it, and I'm sure a lot of you agree. New Vegas is just pricelessly irreplaceable. I will be taking inspiration from some Fallout New Vegas mods again, and I know my stories tend to breach the lore a little bit, but well… it's just my imagination. Sue my brain.

Stay tuned for the real chapter updates, which will be coming soon.

Now enough bullshit. Let's get this shit-show goin' already. Ring-a-ding-ding.


	2. Ring-A-Ding-Damn That Hurt

The fear gnawed at the back of her mind even long after she'd fallen unconscious.

She'd never forget the terror of it—dirt all around, encasing her entire being and invading her every crevice, trapping her underground, unable to move, flattened beneath the earth and left to be forgotten by the wasteland above. Buried alive—everyone always said it was one of the worst ways to die. Evidently, that held true, especially experiencing it firsthand, heart hammering as blood poured from her head, staining the layers of dirt atop her face. Sandra hadn't the faintest clue when the world fell black, when the sounds above fell sill, and when the silence of death began to claw its way around her, slowly pulling her soul even deeper below, lost to the dirt and cold… vanishing… as if she never existed… Benny's face plastered in her memories…

A wide, ghoulish face appeared in her mind, replacing the chairman's snarky visage… red flaky skin, milky blue eyes, giving her the sudden urge to cry just before her consciousness abandoned her. That red face is gone… just as she was about to be… gone… black, void, emptiness… everything…

"Easy, now."

A soft, kind voice broke through the delusion, the darkness of death's void vanishing from her awareness. Sandra tried to blink, her head pulsating terribly, the dirt disappearing from around her. She felt her hand move, her arm slumping to the side—she wasn't buried, free to move, alive somehow.

Her thoughts were scrambled and distant, lost amidst a painful fog. Sandra forced herself to think, to ponder on the red face and the blue hazy eyes, desperately reaching for the memory only to have it slip away seconds later. It was the same face that haunted her for four years, a face she couldn't recall, yet could never escape…

Sandra held up her arm, as if to shield herself from Benny's oncoming bullet, but the gunshot never came. Days had passed since that event, and here she lay, semi-conscious atop Doc Mitchel's hospital bed.

Doc gave her a curious squint, reading the conflict off her dreary expression. "Reckon you're relivin' somethin' unpleasant. Makes sense, givin' the way you came in here."

Sandra blinked, the spinning fan overhead coming clearer into view, her head pounding. Benny's face—and the ghoulish face from her past—were both gone from her mind now, reality returning to her in full. She slumped her head to the side, giving Doc a long, painful stare.

"What the f…?" Sandra moaned.

"Yeah… I'd be out of it too, if I was you," Doc nodded, attempting a kind smile. "Got a wicked scar on your forehead now… but other than that, you ain't no worse for wear. Luckily enough."

"He shot me," Sandra breathed, the memory of Benny and the graveyard slowly playing through her thoughts. "I swear to God, he…"

"Somebody sure did," Doc agreed. "Took quite a bit'o time to fish all that lead outta your head. What exactly happened to ya' out there?"

"I was… making another delivery," Sandra recalled. "I'm a courier. I always make deliveries, and it always goes fine… usually… but… somebody hit me in the back of the head, and I woke up in the graveyard… right before… the checkered-suit guy… shot me…"

Doc let out a heavy sigh. "Seems the same as always… folks just won't leave each other alone. Sounds to me like they were after whatever you were carryin' in that package. Victor didn't find no delivery orders or packages on you. All he found was an old 12-gauge shotgun layin' a few feet away from the grave. Figured it was yours."

Doc reached over, collecting a silvery combat shotgun, which was propped neatly against the wall. He carefully placed the gun in his lap, its worn exterior casting a slight glare from the sunlight in the window. Sandra stared profoundly into the gun, wanting to reach for it—she knew it was hers. She'd had it for as long as she could remember… which, incidentally, wasn't that long at all.

As Sandra slowly pushed herself upright on the bed, Doc leaned over the large gun in his lap, surveying it closely. He gently ran his fingers over the side of the shotgun, grazing a deep inscription in the old firearm. The inscription read: CHARON.

"This you?" Doc asked, tapping on the carved name. "Your name Charon…?"

"No, that… that's…" Sandra pondered on the name, drawing a blank, her head beginning to pound again. "I… I don't know. My name's Sandra."

"Then who's Charon?" Doc wondered, giving the carving an odd glimpse. "Looks to me like your gun's named after someone else. You got any companions wanderin' around out there somewhere?"

"I wish," Sandra mumbled without thinking, wrapping herself more firmly in her black leather jacket, which was unzipped and covered in dirt. For the past four years, she'd been couriering on a regular basis, making the occasional friends in various towns—but she hadn't traveled with any of them. During her time traveling, she felt a gnawing loneliness that always bothered her, but it was just one of those things—one of those things that simply couldn't be helped.

After all, she had no family that she knew of, and she had no close friends, either.

Doc spared her a somber look before string down at the combat shotgun again. "Looks kinda like them riot shotguns they got 'round these parts… but this one looks like it came from the east. That where you come from? The east?"

"I… have no idea," Sandra sighed.

Doc gave her a thoughtful stare. "Amnesia? Good God… I didn't think them bullets actually got to your memory banks in there."

"No, they… didn't," Sandra mumbled, her head aching terribly. "I had amnesia before I ever got shot. I've had it for four years now…"

"Damn. I don't reckon I'm gonna get much of your medical history, then," Doc uttered, glancing at his medical clipboard. "Well, anyhow… you're welcome to grab a bite to eat and use the facilities before you head out. No rush, either. You can stay until you feel like you're well enough to leave."

"Thank you," Sandra said gratefully, trying to smile. "I won't be here long, though. Just wanna wash my clothes, if I can…"

"Certainly," Doc agreed. "I'm Doc Mitchel, by the way. Welcome to good ol' Goodsprings."

"Thanks for patching me up, Doc."

"Don't mention it. It's what I'm here for."

In the hours to follow, Sandra spent her time recomposing, replaying the event in the graveyard and memorizing every detail of the checkered-suited man. A festering anger brewed in the pit of her stomach; she'd never been ambushed like that before, especially so easily. Sandra was no stranger to danger, and she shouldn't have let her guard down. Regardless, she'd find the man in the checkered suit eventually—but for now, rest and composure were top priorities.

Sandra took a shower while her clothes washed and dried, examining herself in the mirror. Her short red hair was the same as ever—her bangs longer than the rest, her hair combed over one half of her face, a deep scarlet red that shone like blood in most lights. It contrasted beautifully with her crystalline blue eyes, though these days, her childlike eyes looked a bit more tired than they used to. Ordinarily, she was the fun-loving and passionate type—but with no friends and no purpose aside from couriering, that passion seemed to be on a slow decline. Until now, that is.

Now, she felt a spark of impassioned determination she hadn't felt in years, wanting more than anything to recover what was stolen from her and corner the man in the checkered suit.

"Bastard," Sandra grumbled at her reflection, wiping away the condensation from the glass.

She sighed, dressing herself and taking a bottled water and a canister of potato crisps from Doc's fridge, choosing not to take too much of his food. After her brief meal, she marched down the hall, adjusting her gun belt on her dark jeans. Her gun belt was still filled with bullets in every loop, and her shotgun was snug inside its over-the-shoulder holster. The Khan's and their checkered-suited ally hadn't stolen these from her, at least.

With nothing but her ammo, her shotgun, and the clothes on her back, Sandra strolled toward the front door.

"Hold up," Doc called from behind her.

Sandra spun around and faced him.

Doc was approaching with a nuka-red pipboy in one hand, a black backpack dangling from the other. "Wouldn't be right of me to send a young lady out without all she needs to get by. I don't know what them no-good thugs stole from ya' out there, but I_ do_ know you need some basics. Got you a couple stimpacks and a few caps to get you started in this backpack—and this ol' pipboy used to be mine back in the day. Reckon you can keep up with your health better if you got a pipboy."

Sandra stepped forward, staring blankly down at the pipboy, momentarily lost for words. "Ah… thank you. You don't have to…"

"Yeah, I think I do. Gimme your arm," Doc requested, opening the pipboy and preparing to snap it onto her.

Sandra rolled up her sleeve, allowing Doc to place the pipboy firmly around her wrist, snapping it into place. Sandra gazed into it for several seconds, feeling the strangest sense of Deja-vu. She never remembered wearing a pipboy before, but it felt familiar…

"Is this the 3000 model?" Sandra asked without any forethought. "I never saw these models in red before. That's awesome."

"Well, well. You're familiar with the tech," Doc smirked. "Didn't expect that. Yeah, it's the 3000 model. My sister used to paint 'em for fun, give everyone in the vault a more 'personalized' look. She even took the time to style the buttons like Nukacola bottlecaps."

"Oooh, yeah… I see that. That's really cool. Bet it pissed your overseer off, though."

Doc narrowed his eyes curiously at her.

Sandra barely noticed; she was staring down at her new pipboy now, flipping through the pages on the screen and pushing various buttons, checking every function of the device. Doc watched her for a moment, then let out a thoughtful chuckle.

"Y'know what," Doc said, flashing a half-smile. "I'd bet money that you were a vault dweller."

Sandra's eyes flickered up to him, suddenly stopping her tinkering. "Really?"

"I reckon," Doc affirmed, nodding down at the pipboy. "You know the word 'overseer,' you knew the make and model of the device on your first guess, and you seem to know your way round pipboys quite a bit. Hell of a thing. Most wastelanders barely even know what a pipboy is, let alone how to use one."

Sandra slowly nodded, scanning over the pipboy and pondering on this. Quite honestly, it made perfect sense—she had no clue if she'd ever been in a vault or worn a pipboy, but using the device felt strangely familiar, and she knew exactly how to use it without anyone teaching her. She wouldn't be surprised at all to learn she'd grown up in a vault.

"Makes sense," Sandra shrugged. "I honestly can't remember, though…"

"If you don't mind me asking," Doc said. "What _can_ you remember? What's your earliest memory?"

Sandra bit her lip, leaning on the wall and thinking back. "I was… in a wooden wagon. I woke up in a wooden wagon, just down the road from New Vegas. It was nighttime, and I remember waking up, seeing the tower shining off in the distance… no idea who I was, or where I was… so I just started walking. I walked until I found the Mojave Express, they gave me three hots and a cot… and that's all there is to it. Been working for them ever since."

"Interesting… do you have any trouble remembering things now? Your travel routes, your delivery deadlines…?"

"No… I remember that kind of stuff just fine. I remembered my own name about a month after I started working for the Mojave Express, but I never remembered anything else from the past. Only my name… nothing else."

"But you have no trouble remembering present-day information?"

"That's right. Why do you ask?"

"Well… it sounds like Dissociative Amnesia," Doc diagnosed. "The amnesia likely didn't come from a head injury or anythin' like that. It sounds to me like your amnesia is the result of some big trauma from your past. The good thing about that is… you never have to worry about forgetting where you are or what you're doing. You'll still be able to function just fine out there… provided you don't get shot in the head again."

"Silver lining," Sandra smirked, reaching out and shaking his hand. "Thanks for everything, Doc. Seriously. I'll pay you back someday."

"Nah… don't mention it," Doc replied warmly, glancing down at her hand and frowning, seeing a fleshy burn mark wrapped around her wrist. "Just… try not to get killed anymore."

Sandra laughed and nodded, sliding the backpack on and giving him a farewell wave.

"You oughta find someone to travel with. Safer that way," Doc told her, waving her off. "Be careful out there, kiddo."

"I will. Seeya, Doc."

Sandra turned and pushed the door open, a blast of sunlight washing over her as she stood atop the hill, overlooking the small town of Goodsprings. It was strange; the moment she found herself basking in the warmth of the sunlight, she felt as if everything from the past had been cleansed away, as if a new era of her life was about to begin.

Sandra shook the feeling off and pocketed her hands, examining the town. The first thing to catch her eye was the large robot rolling down the street. As soon as she approached it, the large bot turned to her, revealing a cartoony cowboy on its display screen.

"Butter my butt n' call me a biscuit," the robot cackled. "Glad to see you on your feet now. Name's Victor. How're ya' feeling, friend?"

"Fine," Sandra replied. "Thanks for digging me up."

"No problem, friend," the bot named Victor said.

Sandra spoke with Victor for a few more minutes before saying her goodbyes and wandering off. She absorbed several serene sights amidst Goodsprings, feeling oddly refreshed despite the headache, grateful to be alive. The memory of the checkered-suited man still angered her to her core, but she couldn't help but feel incredibly thankful to be alive.

Before visiting the store or the saloon, she chose to explore the town, stomping on a few mantis bugs in the old schoolhouse before scavenging for valuables inside. Sandra kept the remains of the mantises, hoping to grill them on a campfire later, pocketing the goods she found in the schoolhouse and eagerly setting off to sell them. She met Chet in the general store, making small talk as she purchased a few necessities for the road—and later, when she walked into the saloon, she found Sunny Smiles near the jukebox, selecting songs while her dog pawed on her leg, whining for food.

"Cheyenne, stop," Sunny griped at the dog. "I'll feed you in a sec…"

Sandra paused and stared at them, glancing at the pool table.

Sunny glimpsed away from the jukebox, spotting Sandra and giving her a wave.

"Hey—you must be her, the courier," Sunny figured. "Whole town's talking about the courier who got buried alive. Look at you, up and at it again after just a couple days."

"Takes more than an execution and a burial to kill my stubborn ass," Sandra cackled.

Sunny laughed. "Apparently. So, you sticking around for a while?"

"Nah, probably not. I'm gonna head out soon."

"All right, well… if you leave town today, make sure you stop by the source first. Gather up some water and cook something at the campsite out there. Just watch out for the geckos."

"Gotcha. Thanks for the tip."

"Wanna play a game of pool before you go?"

Sandra grinned. "Hell yeah."

For the next hour, Sandra and Sunny blared music from the jukebox, taking shots and shooting pool. Sandra found herself having a blast, despite what she expected of the day. This was typical for her—making new friends, partying like mad, then leaving town by herself after the merriment came to an end. It seemed even two shots to the head didn't change her routine of partying and vagabonding.

Just when the sun began to set, Sandra gave Sunny her goodbyes, sauntering out of the saloon with a light buzz. She still had about a hundred-or-so caps in her backpack along with the basic necessities for traveling, and now, it was time to head out. The sunlight was gorgeous on the Mojave horizon, and Sandra paused to observe it, wearing a faint smile before marching down the road south.

As she walked, she found herself thinking of what Doc said—that she should travel with company, that it was safer traveling with a companion. Sandra knew that full well, but she had no one; who could she possibly ask? The kind old doctor who saved her life free of charge, or the stranger woman who just paid for all her pool games and whiskey shots? No one knew Sandr well enough to travel with her, and no one owed her, either.

Traveling alone was her only option, just as it had been for the past four years.

Sandra sighed deeply, gazing emptily down the broken road as she walked. Truly, she wished it was different—that she had some company on the roads—but honestly, she knew such a wish wasn't entirely realistic. No one would throw caution to the wind and follow her blindly on her basic little courier jobs, and they probably wouldn't follow her on this revenge mission, either. Some people were naturally surrounded by families and friends, but Sandra simply wasn't one of those people.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that it might've been different years ago. After all, while she couldn't remember the past, she felt as if someone ought to be walking by her side, a friend or a protector of some kind. It would've felt right to travel alongside someone, as if it was _always_ that way…

She felt almost certain that she used to travel with others, but it was a troubling thought. If Sandra once traveled with people, then what ever _happened_ to those people? What happened to leave her all alone in the world?

Sandra rolled her neck, groaning and shaking the annoying thought away. Just when she faced the road again, something peculiar caught her eye.

Farther down the road, a man stood in the near distance. He wore a red bandana tied around his short, spiky hair, a green sports jacket draped over his Kevlar vest, a pair of shiny dog tags glistening from around his neck. He appeared to be yelling at an inanimate object…

"The fuck…?" Sandra mumbled, drawing closer and squinting oddly at the stranger.

The stranger stood beside a broken-down motorbike, kicking the small vehicle and cursing as he accidentally wounded his toe. Sandra swallowed a laugh.

"Fuck, why ain't ya…?" the stranger griped, smacking the motorcycle's handlebars. "Stupid piece'a… is that thing supposed to be…?"

Sandra stepped closer, scanning over the motorcycle. She hadn't seen many working vehicles in her time couriering, but she'd seen a few. Never a motorcycle, though.

"What's wrong with it?" Sandra asked.

The stranger met her eyes and shrugged. "Just a lil' bike trouble, no biggie."

"Any idea why?"

"Iunno. The rear stabilizer's kinda loose, but that shouldn't cause any real problems. God knows. Could be anything…"

Sandra bent beside the bike, examining it closely. Most vehicles ran on fusion cores, but a few also had gas canisters. Even though gasoline was an old and obsolete fuel from pre-war times, some folks still managed to create, salvage, or use it. This motorcycle had a gas canister, and when Sandra tapped it, the can made an echoing hollow sound.

"Out of gas, dude," Sandra determined.

"Oh. Magic," the stranger responded, and Sandra noticed he had a muddled British accent. "Well… c'mon then. I guess we gotta find a gas station now, don't we?"

Sandra blinked. "We?"

"Yeah… we," the stranger confirmed. "Like, you and me. Ya' dig?"

"Okay…"

"You know where there might be a gas station?"

"There's one in Goodsprings, but it's not…"

"Okay, lead the way."

Sandra sighed, spinning on her heel and heading back toward Goodsprings, the stranger following closely behind her. It wasn't a big deal—just a minor detour, and then, she'd be off to Primm as planned.

When Sandra and the stranger marched through Goodsprings, she stopped at the top of the hill, just across the street from Doc Mitchel's home. Sandra stood in the parking lot of the desolate gas station, where no working gas pumps had existed for over two-hundred years.

The stranger stared at the broken pieces of gas pumps for a while, looking more befuddled than Sandra thought possible of a rational person.

"So, this is the…" the stranger muttered. "But… where do I put the…? Huh…"

Sandra repressed another urge to laugh. This guy seemed the simple type, and watching him think so hard was oddly amusing.

The stranger glanced at the abandoned gas station building, then sighed.

"Y'know… I don't think they're open," he uttered.

Sandra stared incredibly at him. "Of _course_ they're not—"

"Hey, d'you wanna go for a drink?" he asked her. "I saw this cool place when I was riding down the highway, and I wanted to check it out. It ain't far. C'mon."

"What? Wait a…"

The stranger wandered off, waving for her to follow. Sandra resisted the urge to groan loudly and speed-walked after him. The stranger led her behind the store and the saloon, and before long, the two of them were marching briskly over the landscape beyond Goodsprings, past numerous cacti and plants in the vast expanse of the desert. Eventually, they approached the enormous memorial outside of town, a statue in the shape of a massive cross. Sunset had become twilight by the time they arrived, and the stranger stopped on the concrete platform, gazing over the scenery and smirking.

"Whaddid I say, man, whaddid I say?" the stranger said, nodding at Sandra. "Told ya' it was cool as hell."

Sandra caught her breath, gazing up at the cross above her, then pausing to absorb the scenery. Honestly, the sight of it was breathtaking—in fact, she was just able to see the tower of Vegas glowing under the night sky in the far distance, the sky a deep, beautiful blue as the stars became visible.

"Okay… yeah," Sandra admitted. "Nice place."

The stranger sat on the concrete platform, sliding off his satchel and fishing out a small bottle of whiskey. Sandra sat beside him, crossing her legs and watching the scenery for a moment.

"What's your drink, pal?" the stranger asked.

"I don't know… anything strong," Sandra muttered.

"There." He placed a second bottle of whiskey in her lap. "Get that down ya'."

Sandra smirked, popping the lid off and taking a savory swig of the wonderfully acidic liquid. She loved to drink, perhaps more than she should, but it didn't matter. Sandra always felt that life was fleeting, and there was no reason to avoid the things she enjoyed. Besides, it wasn't as if she was a ragingly psychotic alcoholic. Sandra drank to feel at ease, and once or twice a week, she'd indulge in the occasional cigarette or two. Nothing major.

As they gazed over the beautiful nighttime Mojave, Sandra lit a cigarette and took a puff, taking another drink of whiskey and feeling incredibly relaxed. These peaceful moments were one of her favorite things about her line of work, taking in the sights and relaxing after whatever work or fun had transpired earlier in the day.

"So… who are you, anyway?" Sandra asked the stranger.

"Name's Niner," the stranger named Niner replied. "I'm kind of a… a drifter, y'know."

"Yeah, same for me. What brings you out here?"

"What else? I'm on my way to Vegas."

Sandra nodded, eyeing the city in the great distance, barely visible from where she sat. The man in the checkered suit was nothing like his Great Khan allies—whereas the Khans were grimy and hardened, the checkered-suited man was clean-cut and suave. In all likelihood, the checkered-suited man was probably a Vegas man, which would likely lead Sandra to the same destination as Niner.

"Me too," Sandra uttered distantly. "Going to Vegas…"

"Reeeally," Niner smirked. "Well, ain't that a coinkidinks. You and me oughta make that trip together… be easier than goin' it alone all the time."

Sandra nodded again, pausing and feeling a strange sense of excitement. Traveling with someone certainly sounded nicer than going it alone, especially after her near-death encounter. Besides, she'd been traveling lone for far too long now…

"Yeah," Sandra agreed, meeting Niner's gaze. "I guess we could do that. Makes sense. We could watch each other's backs."

"Great, hey—we're gonna be the best'a friends, I can already tell," Niner grinned, slapping her once on the back. "Whaddo they call you?"

"My name's Sandra."

"Mngh… nah, I don't like it. It's too hard to remember."

"Seriously—?"

"We need to make you a nickname, mate."

"Me? But your name's just a number."

"Niner _ain't_ a number. It's a… it… quit asking questions. We're onto you now."

"That wasn't a question…"

"C'mon, throw me a bone. People don't call you _anything_ else?"

Sandra sighed heavily, pausing to think. She was just a nameless courier with no family or friends. She certainly didn't have anyone around to assign her a nickname.

"At my job… they call me Courier Six," Sandra shrugged, feeling as if the _Courier Six_ label sounded lame.

Niner, however, seemed to like it. "Six… yeah, that works. Six. I'm gonna call you Six."

"Okay. Then I'm gonna call you Nine."

"No, don't… don't do that…"

Sandra laughed, snuffing out her cigarette and taking another swig. "Well… I was gonna head out of town, but it's getting late now. We might need to find a place to crash before we leave."

"Okay, Six—but first thing's first," Niner responded. "What're we gonna do about my bike?"

"I don't know… somebody has to have gas."

"Eh… I doubt it around here. These people don't even got shoes."

"We'll figure it out tomorrow. Let's just find a place to sleep for the night."

"Aw'right, I just gotta grab some stuff from my bike first."

"Let's go, then."

The two of them stood and marched away from the memorial, Sandra following behind Niner and wearing a pleased smirk. A new companion, a friend for the road—just what she needed and wanted. She didn't know Niner well yet, but hopefully, he'd be trustworthy enough to keep around. Sandra liked what she knew of him so far.

As they passed Goodsprings, Sandra turned and examined an old broken-down bus near the saloon, one she'd seen a few times earlier in the day. The bus looked like it hadn't moved in a while, but it would make a nice place to sleep…

Sandra and Niner headed down the road south, venturing out of Goodsprings toward the motorcycle. But the moment they arrived, Sandra frowned—at first, she couldn't see the bike. Instead, a massive fire was sitting down the street, burning the remains of Niner's motorcycle in the middle of the road.

Sandra and Niner approached the flaming bike, both of them stunned.

"Uhm…" Niner mumbled. "Was it on fire when we left…?"

"No," Sandra mumbled emptily. "No it wasn't…"

Just then, two raiders emerged from behind the nearest rocks, charging at them with sledgehammers raised. Niner swore and whipped out his rifle, Sandra gasping and feeling a spike of adrenaline—she dove behind the closest rock and ripped her shotgun from its holster. She and Niner hammered on their triggers, decimating the two raiders instantly. Both bodies fell limply on the road, staining the pavement with blood on either side of the flaming motorcycle.

There was a tense pause. Sandra slowly stood, holstering her gun and shaking off the sudden urgency. She was no stranger to killing, nor was Niner—though Niner looked far more perturbed than she was. He didn't care about the dead raiders; his attention was focused on the ruined bike, his expression angry and distraught.

"What the _hell_, man?!" Niner griped, fidgeting in his stance. "What… ah… aaaguh!"

"Sorry," Sandra mumbled. "About your bike…"

Niner groaned out a sigh, rolling his neck and facing her. "Agh… don't go actin' like it was your fault. Ugh… I need something to take the edge off…"

He slipped a coiled-up rag from his satchel, pulling a syringe out of the rag and pressing the needle to his arm.

Sandra stared at the needle. "What's that…?"

"Steady, man," Niner replied, injecting himself with the drug. "Why, you after a hit…?"

"Um… no, I'm good," Sandra muttered. She rarely used chems.

Niner closed his eyes, inhaling a long, contented breath. "Mmm… that's the good shit, right there… yeah…"

He tossed the needle aside, straightening up and facing Sandra properly.

"Y'know what, man?" Niner said. "It was a shitty bike, always lettin' me down. I don't need it. See, all I need is you, Six—me and you, we're gonna make it to Vegas, even if we gotta walk there. What you say, Six? Me and you."

"You and me," Sandra agreed, trading a high-five with him.

Niner gave her a conclusive nod. "Lead the way, man."

The both of them left the flaming bike behind, returning to Goodsprings as Trudy, Sunny, and Chet all wandered off to their homes for the evening. Sandra examined the old broken bus, prying the metal door open and stepping inside. The interior smelled of mildew, and it contained a sleeping bag and a dirty old mattress, as well as a few loose bits of clutter. Sandra and Niner deemed it decent enough, and they crawled into their sleeping spots, quickly drifting into a deep, peaceful slumber.

Sandra awoke long before Niner did, jolting awake from a nightmare—a gunshot, a fade to black, and the sensation of being buried alive, caked with dirt all around her. A brief flash of a red, ghoulish face plagued her mind before she came to. When she sat upright, she was incredibly relieved to find that she was sitting inside an old bus, on a mattress, morning sunlight bleeding inside from every window.

With Niner snoozing loudly from his sleeping bag, Sandra decided to do a little more scavenging before they prepared to leave town for good. She found herself at the gas station again, hoping to find some overlooked valuables…

After meeting Ringo and learning of his predicament, Sandra took on the task of helping him, talking to everyone in town and convincing them to help him fight off the Powder Gangers. Sandra was pleased to hear that the townspeople intended to help him, but she didn't want to stick around for the fight. The longer she procrastinated, she further her checkered-suited assailant became…

By the time Sandra finished her business in Goodsprings, Niner had awoken and cooked two helpings of grilled mantis before taking a late-morning hit of jet. Afterward, he and Sandra trekked off to the south, intending to reach Primm before nightfall. And Sandra felt—as she walked down the road, trading jokes with Niner—as if she was marching off to something monumental, as if a set of dominoes were falling in place, as if things had transpired in a way that would lead her down a path of utmost importance.

Thinking this feeling ridiculous, she merely shrugged it off.

And she couldn't have known just how right the feeling was.


	3. Friends of New & Old

Mr. Burke slowly lowered the newspaper, sipping his coffee and grimacing.

He wore his favorite grayish suit, pinstriped and cleaner than most, his fedora tenting over his sunglasses and his pensive eyes behind them. For years now, he lived in the lone wanderer's abandoned Megaton home, watching over the town as the wanderer had requested before her departure. After securing Project Purity and distributing Aqua Pura in mass, the Capital Wasteland underwent a short era of peace and prosperity—but now, it seemed that time of serenity was coming to a quick and violent downfall.

Ever since the Lyon's Pride lost their most recent election among the Brotherhood of Steel, and young and ambitious initiate—a man named Maxson—had been leading the Brotherhood. Unlike Sarah and her followers, Maxson and his new Brotherhood were far less tolerant and considerably more ruthless. In the past year alone, most functioning territories—like Rivet City and Tenpenny Tower—had been taken over by Maxson's Brotherhood, and now, according to the newspaper, the Brotherhood was finally moving toward Megaton.

Mr. Burke frowned in silence, stroking his chin and glaring at the paper. Wadsworth the robot gently floated toward him, placing a new mug of coffee on the table just after Burke finished his first cup. Mr. Burke thanked him with a distant utterance, still troubled and distracted by the falling prosperity of the Capital Wasteland. His mind wandered back to Bryan Wilks—the young boy who was rescued by the lone wanderer years ago. The wanderer adopted him after saving him from a town filled with mutant ants, and nowadays, Bryan was a young initiate in the Brotherhood of Steel. He initiated under Sarah's discretion, and Mr. Burke hadn't heard from either of them in a few months. Sarah was busy unwittingly following Maxson's harsh orders, and Bryan was her subordinate, tasked with many of the same jobs. Mr. Burke couldn't help but wonder what their lives must've been like now, after Sarah lost the election to Maxson, and now, she and Bryan were forced to do things that neither of them were morally comfortable with doing, marching into independent towns, forcing people out of their homes at gunpoint…

There was a time when Mr. Burke was a prolific expert at operating in the areas colored morally gray, but now, strangely, he felt a tinge of disdain thinking of the harsh changes in the capital. He never cared in the past, but the wanderer left him with a new sense of empathy before she departed the Capital Wasteland. So damn annoying, that feeling was. Things were so much easier before he ever gave a damn…

He let out a heavy sigh. The lone wanderer entrusted he, Gob, and Fawkes with the town before she left—but now, Gob and Fawkes had evacuated along with many of the townspeople, hoping to escape the danger before the Brotherhood arrived on their doorstep. They all knew they couldn't win such a fight, and Mr. Burke was left with a mostly-empty town, with no way to preserve it and no people left to assist him with the task. It was all a lost cause, everything the wanderer fought for. Such a damn waste.

"Damn it all," Mr. Burke exhaled, shoving the paper away and massaging his temples stressfully. "Left with nothing… after all we accomplished. Damn it all to hell."

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

Mr. Burke perked up, eyeing the door suspiciously. Many of the townspeople were gone—but even when the town was full, he rarely got visitors. He swiftly slid his pistol from its holster, approaching the door and cautiously pulling it open.

When he saw two familiar faces staring back at him, he released a sigh of relief and stuffed his gun away.

Sarah and Bryan stood before him now, Sarah now wearing a set of sleek new recon armor, which complimented her figure far more than her old clunky power armor had. Bryan was fourteen now, and he was dressed in average clothing, as the Brotherhood had no armor in his size. He still had his old backpack given to him by the wanderer years ago, hanging lazily off his shoulder by a single strap, his sandy hair scraggly and slicked back, Sarah's hair a shiny blonde, tied back in a smooth ponytail.

Sarah offered him a smile and stepped inside, Bryan following her and closing the door behind them. Mr. Burke surveyed them both strangely, thinking it odd that they'd arrive unannounced, especially with the recent events developing in the capital.

"What're you… oh," Mr. Burke muttered. "Oh, don't tell me they're at the gates already. Did they send you in to try and talk me down?"

"No… we took a vertibird here," Sarah replied. "The Maxson squad is coming, but there're too many of them to fit in the vertibirds. Most are coming on foot. Maxson hasn't gotten authorization to use the Prydwen yet, so… he's winging it. He really wants to make a full takeover happen regardless of who it hurts, or how much he strains his followers. Bastard's a tyrant."

"He's a jackoff," Bryan grumbled, folding his arms and gazing up at the wall, where the wanderer's armored vault 101 suit was pinned upright on display. "He's barely any older than me, and he's acting like he knows everything. Last week, we had to evict a family out of New Paradise Falls, and it was fucking evil. They were all crying and screaming… and I told Maxson it was a fucked up thing to do. Maxson threatened to put me in front of a public firing squad if I spoke out of turn again. He's a fucking dictator."

Mr. Burke frowned intently, his eyes shifting thoughtfully between the two of them. "I understand. But that doesn't explain your sudden arrival. Why're you here?"

Sarah and Bryan exchanged intense visages.

Mr. Burke eyed them. "What?"

"Well, we…" Sarah paused and cleared her throat. "We decided to seek greener pastures, so to speak. We're gonna try to integrate with another wing of the Brotherhood, if we can. But we have to get out of Maxson's reach first."

Bryan nodded in agreement, wearing a mischievous smirk.

Mr. Burke narrowed his eyes at the devilish expression on Bryan's face. Then, his eyes shot over to Sarah again.

"You _stole_ a vertibird," Mr. Burke deducted.

Sarah chuckled. "You've still got a knack for reading people."

"Yeah—we stole it and we do it again!" Bryan cackled. "We've been researching in secret for weeks. We've been looking for new wings of the Brotherhood, far away from the capital. Far from Maxson's tyrannical bullshit."

"Unfortunately, we haven't found very many that are willing to defy Maxson," Sarah informed. "Trust me, I've contacted plenty of them. Most of them don't agree with Maxson, but none of them have the balls to stand against him, either."

"But then I found this really secret place marked on Elder Lyons's map," Bryan stated, his grin growing. "It's a Brotherhood wing on lockdown, waaay across the country. They're recovering from a battle with the NCR."

"NCR…?" Mr. Burke mumbled.

"New California Republic," Sarah clarified. "It's a faction out west. The Brotherhood doesn't have much of an influence out there—but the western Brotherhood is on lockdown, recovering from a fight and lacking in numbers. I asked the elder, and he told me all this. He also told me that the western Brotherhoods are a lot less structured, broken up and scattered across the region. But there's one stronghold left out there. One that we know of, anyway."

"Oh?" Mr. Burke said, cocking an eyebrow. "Where is it?"

"Nevada," Sarah and Bryan both answered.

"_Nevada_?" Mr. Burke took back. "_That_ far?"

"Yes. It's our best shot at starting over in the Brotherhood," Sarah told him. "We're about to make a _really_ long flight."

"And… we wanted to ask," Bryan added, tilting his head at Mr. Burke. "Since Megaton is empty, and it's about to be overrun… we wanted to ask if you wanna to join us."

Mr. Burke took a moment to think, staring at them silently as his mind began to race. His gaze wandered over to the wall, where the vault suit had been hanging for years. Mr. Burke released a sigh, sauntering to the wall and softly stroking the sleeve of the suit, contemplating on their offer, among other things.

Sarah observed him from behind, her beautiful face now harboring an empathetic frown.

"It's the best course of action," she said somberly. "I know it feels wrong to bail on everything we fought for… but Maxson's already taken that away from us. If you stay here, the Brotherhood is gonna force you out, just like they have everyone else. And if you refuse… well… they're authorized to use lethal force. You'd end up either homeless or dead."

"Yeah… and we can't stay here," Bryan said bluntly, a tinge of anger in his tone. "I'm not gonna keep doing that evil shit for Maxson. That's not what I joined the Brotherhood for. Leaving is better for us—and for you."

Mr. Burke was only halfway listening, his expression dark as he fidgeted with the vault suit.

Sarah stepped toward him, glancing between Mr. Burke and the wanderer's hanging armor.

"I know… what you thought," Sarah murmured softly. "I know what you thought… for the past few years. I thought the same thing."

Mr. Burke turned his head and met her eyes.

Sarah sighed. "I thought she'd eventually come back. But she never did… and she's not going to. I think it's time we put that little hope out of our minds."

Mr. Burke said nothing, looking away and staring into the vault suit again.

Sarah's grave visage seemed to grow heavier with perturbation. She let out another sigh, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Over all this time… I kinda pieced it together," Sarah told him. "From the stories she told me, and from the look on your face every time someone mentions her. I know how you felt about her, but she's not coming back. Plus… you are a_ really_ rare breed, you know that?"

Mr. Burke faced her once more, this time with a hint of questioning in his eyes.

"You're an evil fuck," Sarah laughed. "Or you used to be, anyway. It is really, really, _really_ rare for someone as twisted as you to become a better person. You originally came here to _destroy_ this town—but for the past few years, you've been this town's_ protector_. Do you have _any idea_ how bizarre that is? Do you have any clue how _rare_ it is for someone like you to change like that? I'd hate to see you throw that away just because you wanna stay here and wait for her. She's not coming back. It's better if we all bail out and start fresh somewhere else."

"It's not just her," Mr. Burke mumbled in a faint, wispy voice, releasing the sleeve of the vault suit. "It's everything we _accomplished _with her. It all seems like such a damn waste now. This is why I never carried the weight of a moral compass in the past. It's never worth it. Never."

"Really?" Sarah said challengingly, giving him a caustic smirk. "Then lemme ask you something. After you left Tenpenny Tower—when you got jumped by a deathclaw—who saved your ass that day?"

Mr. Burke released another distressed breath, glaring at the vault suit.

"It was worth it to her, and some good came from it," Sarah told him straightly. "It was worth it to all of us. Just because Maxson is snatching everything away doesn't mean it was all pointless. The water shortage was killing everyone before Project Purity was restored. We all had a hand in reviving it—and that saved _all _our lives. It was _definitely_ worth it."

"But that time is over now," Bryan added on. "Now it's time to start over somewhere else. We did our part here, and now, this place just isn't a good place to be anymore."

Mr. Burke nodded quietly, grimacing at the vault suit as a series of loose memories flooded his mind. The day he met the wanderer, their first meeting anything but friendly, when she somehow threatened him and stole his heart at the same time. Such a weird girl, she was, valuing life more than anyone should and traveling with that tall, reddish ghoul who protected her through thick and thin. Then, Mr. Burke flashed a darker frown, stroking his chin and only just remembering what became of the wanderer's ghoul bodyguard.

"That ghoul… Charon," Mr. Burke uttered. "He died reviving Project Purity."

"I know… I remember," Sarah replied sadly. "He was a legacy."

"His legacy is _wasted_ now," Mr. Burke growled. "God, I'd give anything to go back to the way things were. It's not in my nature to give a damn."

"Burke… like I said, Project Purity saved_ all_ of us," Sarah replied flatly. "Regardless of Maxson's bullshit, the fight for Project Purity was _still _worth it. His sacrifice _still _did a lot of good. It's not wasted."

"Yeah… Project Purity kept us all alive long enough to reach today," Bryan said profoundly. "And because of that, we have a chance to start over. And we _need_ to start over."

"And no offense, but I _never_ want things to go back to the way they were," Sarah stated. "Because I like you a _lot_ better the way you are now."

"I don't," Mr. Burke grumped. "It's a metric pain in the ass."

Sarah giggled and shook her head. "I know giving a damn is a pain in the ass, but it's better that way. Makes you better than all the assholes like Maxson."

"Are you coming with us or not?" Bryan asked insistently.

"Of course," Mr. Burke said, turning and straightening his tie. "I've got precious little options, as it turns out. When do we depart?"

"Right now," Sarah told him. "Pack up a few necessities and meet us outside. The vertirbird's right outside the gates. We need to get gone before the Brotherhood gets here."

Mr. Burke nodded and marched up the stairs, shoving a few of his belongings into an urban-camo backpack. He took a moment to give the bedroom a final stare, then moved to the kitchen and packed everything he could from the fridge and cabinet. He said his goodbyes to Wadsworth, and just when he approached the front door—preparing to make his final departure of his Megaton home—he halted mid-step, narrowing his eyes at the vault suit and feeling foolish for being entranced by it. Mr. Burke was far from the romantic type, but the lone wanderer once infected his mind in a way no one else ever had. That girl was the only reason he ever learned to give a damn. He wasn't sure if this was a blessing or a curse, but nevertheless, something possessed him to snatch the vault suit off the wall and drape it over his shoulder before marching out of the house forever.

* * *

Flashes of memories far gone invaded her mind as she walked.

After a night of broken memories scattered amidst her dreams, Sandra strolled down the paved road, tinkering absentmindedly with her pipboy as Primm slowly grew more visible in the near distance. She recalled the memory of the red ghoulish face in her dream, as well as flashes of a rickety old saloon hovering above a megaton bomb. The dream ended with the red ghoulish face transforming into a smoother, slyer expression, the face of the checkered-suited man, smirking coldly before pulling the trigger. Sandra suspected the traumatic memory of her near-death experience might haunt her for a while—she was fine with this, though it seemed to be reawakening much farther memories, recollections of a time long gone that she'd never experienced before now.

Sandra blinked as she drew closer to Primm, only just realizing that Niner had been talking for nearly ten minutes straight.

"My pet mantis, Senior Slicey-Hands… he was like a green dog that clicked and scared the fuck outta people," Niner ranted. "Forget what ever happened to him. Wha' about you? You ever had a pet?"

"A yao guai," Sandra murmured without thinking.

Niner turned and gave her a double-take. "A fuckin' _bear_?"

Sandra fell silent for a moment, wondering what possessed her to say such a thing. Strangely, she felt certain that she had a young yao guai as a pet once, but she couldn't remember when.

"It was a long time ago," Sandra resolved. "Can't remember what happened to him, either…"

"Hey!" someone shouted in the distance.

Sandra and Niner both perked up, spotting an NCR soldier just behind the railing, which separated the entrance of Primm from the main road.

"Primm's off-limits," the soldier yelled at them.

Sandra and Niner traded caustic glances, both scoffing and smirking.

"You ain't gonna keep us from walking into town, mate," Niner snarked at the soldier, straightening the dog tags that hung from around his neck and tilting his head cockily. "Neither of us came here to bow to the New California Fuck-up-lic."

Niner laughed at the expression on the soldier's face, sauntering past him and marching into Primm. Sandra glanced at the soldier before sprinting after her friend.

"Damn, man…" Sandra uttered. "I take it you don't like the NCR?"

"Not 'specially," Niner replied without looking at her, twirling his dog tags. "You? Whaddo you think of 'em?"

Sandra shrugged as the two of them entered the town. "Nothing, really. I don't care for wannabe governments, but they're not the worst ones I've seen."

"What're the worst ones you seen, then?"

Sandra pondered on this, gazing down at her wrist, where a tiny crooked scar was wrapped around her arm, presumably from some sort of laser fire.

"No idea," she uttered.

Niner gave her an odd glance.

They both explored Primm for a while, Sandra alarmed to find that the town was overrun with convicts, who shouted insults and threats at them each time they walked within earshot of the Bison Steve. Niner complained about the run-down state of the casino, and Sandra spent a little time talking to Jonothan Nash, asking about her recent delivery order and the checkered-suited man who had passed through Primm mere days ago. Nash informed her that Deputy Beagle witnessed the checkered-suited man, but the deputy was being held hostage by convicts inside Bison Steve.

So, Sandra and Niner spend the remainder of their day sneaking through the Bison Steve Hotel, their hearts thumping nervously as they stealthily made their way down isolated halls and around darkened corners. Eventually, they found the deputy tied up in the kitchen, and they were quick to release him and sneak him out of the building.

Once they were outside, Sandra and Niner let out a massively relieved breath, shoving Deputy Beagle toward the Vikki & Vance and hurriedly distancing themselves from the building filled with convicts. They stood outside and talked for a while, Deputy Beagle revealing his information on the checkered-suited man—as well as expressing his displeasure that Primm no longer had any law and order.

"Why don't you be the sheriff?" Sandra asked him.

"What? No… I'm just a deputy," Beagle argued, looking almost frightened by the suggestion.

Niner narrowed his eyes at Beagle. "Are you _really_ the deputy? I mean… I ain't saying you look incompetent. I'm just saying you seem… ah… unfortunate. Y'know… just saying."

Sandra choked on a laugh. "Okay… we have to leave town soon, so… I'll keep an eye out for you. If I meet any law enforcers, I'll send 'em your way."

"Good. I'll start thinkin' up questions for the interview," Deputy Beagle decided, giving them a nod and saying his goodbyes.

Sandra and Niner broke off, both of them eager to leave the unstable town. Then, Sandra slowed to a stop, eyeing the Mojave Express building and squinting at it curiously, Jonathan Nash's words still lingering in her mind.

"Hang on," Sandra said, approaching the building and waving for Niner to follow. "I wanna look around here."

"Wha… is this your work?" Niner guessed.

"Sorta," Sandra replied, pulling the door open and stepping inside. "I don't get all my work from this specific building, but this is one branch of the business. Nash said he was in charge of signing on all the couriers on my job. My job had six deliveries, and five other couriers… Nash said the job was really strange to him. I just wanna have a look around. Whatever I was delivering, it was valuable enough for someone to kill me for, so…"

"Right, I getcha," Niner nodded, stepping into the dingy building and glimpsing around. "I'd want some answers, too…"

Both of them surveyed the inside, finding a small dining table, a bed, and a kitchenette, as well as a long countertop and a radio softly playing music. Nothing inside the Mojave Express building seemed out of the ordinary, and Sandra released a sigh, feeling a tinge of disappointment. She began rifling around for documents on the six-man delivery job, but she found none, exhaling another pinch of defeat.

Just when she was ready to leave, something strange caught her eye. At the edge of the front counter, a small, broken robot lay on the countertop, a rounded metal device with a few dents and long antennas protruding from it, as well as a tiny banner on the side. The banner read ED-E.

Sandra stepped toward it, her eyes glazing with a bizarre sense of recognition. Her expression grew distant, almost trancelike as she gazed into the broken bot.

Sandra glanced to the side, grabbing a sensor module from the counter and approaching the robot. Without much forethought, she opened the side hatch on the bot, cautiously placing the sensor module inside and fixing it into the proper spot. Then, she began tinkering with the inner wires, using a roll of found electrical tape to bind the damaged wires together. Niner stared at her until she was finished.

"What're you doing to that thing?" Niner asked. "That's a… a egg-bot, or something. Ain't it?"

"It's called an eyebot," Sandra told him, unsure of how she knew such a thing. "I can't remember when, but… I used to see these things all the time."

She slammed the hatch shut and flicked the bot's metal exterior—then, astonishingly, the bot made several excited beeping noises, perking its antennas and slowly floating above the counter.

"Hey, little dude," Sandra smirked, patting the floating bot on the head. "You wanna come with us, Eddie?"

ED-E gave a happy beeping noise, bobbing in the air as if it enjoyed the idea.

"Aww… you're just a happy little bugger, ain't ya?" Niner laughed, twirling a finger around one of its antennas. "This little guy shows more emotion than most people I seen."

"Yeah… and you see this?" Sandra asked, pointing to the tiny laser hanging off the front of ED-E's small exterior. "This is a laser gun. He's gonna be a nice security measure on the road."

ED-E twittered in agreement. Niner chuckled at the bot, seeming amused by the robot's expressive nature.

"Well… come on," Sandra disclosed, stepping outside. "Let's get outta this hellhole."

With a new eyebot companion, Sandra and Niner finally departed Primm, spending the entire evening walking the road south. The night was chilly and eerie, both of them jumpier than usual, alerted by every faint noise and keeping a vigilant eye out for raiders.

After a long and tiring walk up an incredibly steep hill, they approached the two massive statues outside of the Mojave Outpost, relieved to have reached their final destination of the day.

"Goddamn… lookit that giant dick-wavin' statue," Niner panted, wiping sweat from his brow. "NCR, humble as always…"

Sandra snickered, wanting to ask why Niner had such disdain for the NCR, but she decided against it for now.

After speaking with Ranger Jackson, Sandra and Niner were permitted to sleep in the barracks in exchange for clearing pests from the road tomorrow, as the ant infestation was keeping all the outpost's caravans grounded. Sandra agreed to his terms, and she and Niner slept soundly on a set of bunk beds, ED-E hovering around the spacious room and waiting for them to awaken. When morning arrived, Sandra awoke from another dream of the red-faced ghoul and the checkered-suited man. She shook the dream away and moved to wake up Niner, but Niner was no longer in his bed.

So, Sandra wandered the outpost until eleven in the morning, searching for Niner and finding no sign of him. She eventually wandered up a steep plank, finding a single ranger woman on the roof, watching over the road north. Sandra approached her, hoping to ask if she'd seen Niner, but the ranger—Ghost—spoke before Sandra could.

"You're the courier that just came into the outpost last night," Ghost deducted. "I saw your name on the log book this morning. Today's your lucky day, if you wanna make a little money."

Sandra nodded, glimpsing down at the outpost and wondering where Niner could've gotten off too, feeling distracted and disheartened. Perhaps her new companion had left without her. So much for making new friends…

"Um… yeah," Sandra mumbled, sighing and patting ED-E gingerly. "Yeah, I could use some money. What's the work?"

"I think Nipton's been hit," Ghost informed. "Not sure how, but… there's smoke coming from the town. I need some eyes and ears to go check it out, and report back to me. You game?"

"Absolutely."

"Good. Look at you, all fired up and ready to go. Wish people around here had that attitude."

"Yeah… well… I gotta go. Seeya."

Sandra marched down the plank, ED-E floating along behind her. She stepped through the fence and gazed out at the road north, where she and Niner had arrived the previous night, feeling a spark of hesitation. She wanted to carry on, to head to Nipton and exterminate the critters on the road for Jackson, but Niner's disappearance still hindered her. Had he left her behind? Perhaps he never intended to stick by her…

Sandra groped all her pockets, briefly checking her backpack and the shotgun hanging from her back. None of her belongings had been stolen—Niner hadn't robbed her and fled the scene. So then, where could he have gone?

Then, she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye—just behind the bar building, Niner was standing with an NCR man, stuffing a large brown package into his bag and speaking in hushed tones with the soldier.

Sandra narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him, stepping toward him and studying him closely.

"Okay… seeya," Niner said, waving goodbye to the soldier and marching off. He spotted Sandra, smirking and giving her a two-fingered salute. "Okay, Six… it's all taken care of."

"What…?" Sandra uttered. "What was that about?"

"Just… stuff… and things," Niner mumbled, glancing around warily. "Y'know…"

"Stop fucking with me, what was it?"

"Stuff… and things… n-now ain't the time, Six. C'mon. I gotta head to Nipton next."

Sandra stared at him.

Niner blinked. "What?"

"Nothing," Sandra said, flashing a faint smile. "I thought you just up and left without me."

"Why would I wanna do that? You're my runnin' man now. Or runnin' girl. Whatever."

"Good. Let's head to Nipton… oh, and one of the rangers said Nipton might've been attacked, so you better stay close when we're on the road."

"Okay. Can't promise I won't just stare at your ass, though."

"Shut up, perv."

They both laughed, sauntering off and preparing to leave, Sandra feeling a nice sense of relief after finding that Niner hadn't left without her. Just after passing the gates, Niner yanked her to a stop.

"Hold on a sec… I gotta hit this," Niner said, lifting a red inhaler. "Y'want some?"

"Um… sure," Sandra reluctantly agreed. "I might need it for the long walks and the bug-killing today, so… yeah."

Niner held the inhaler to her face and allowed her to take a puff. Sandra felt a small rush as the drug flushed her system, her skin tingling and her mood elevating. Niner finished off the inhaler himself, grinning and tossing it aside.

"Y'wanna have some fun?" Niner smirked devilishly.

"What kinda fun?" Sandra asked.

"C'mon. With me."

Just then, Niner spun on his heel and broke into a run. Sandra was surprised, chasing after him—Niner led her to the back of the main building, pulling two sets of NCR armor out from behind a few sarsaparilla crates. He quickly stepped into one of the outfits, tossing the other to Sandra.

"Here—I swiped these," Niner snickered. "Put 'em on."

Sandra dressed in a confused hurry, feeling almost suffocated under the thick tan armor. "What're we…?"

"Shh. Follow my lead. C'mon."

Niner began walking more rigidly, marching with purpose around the building and steadily approaching the entrance of the main building. Sandra followed him, gulping nervously and trying not to make eye contact with any of the nearby soldiers.

Niner pushed the doors open and led Sandra inside, past the man behind the counter and a couple other soldiers. Sandra inhaled heavily, thinking this plan—whatever it was—couldn't possibly work. She'd signed into the log book last night, after all. Everyone here knew she wasn't a soldier—and her blatant blood-red hair made her stick out like a sore thumb.

Niner stopped, facing her and delivering a powerful salute. "Ah, Private Klaxingdale! I see you're on time for our important meeting!"

Sandra swallowed. "Oh God… ah… sir, yes, sir!"

"C'mon. We need ta' find a more private place to hold our secret meeting," Niner stated, glimpsing around. "Can't tell who's a spy these days. Lookin' at you, soldier boy. Anyway, forward march."

Niner began to lead her down an isolated back hallway.

"Niner—I already talked to Jackson yesterday," Sandra whispered. "If he sees me impersonating a soldier, we're fucked."

Niner didn't seem to hear her. He stepped into the farthest room in the back, a room filled only with storage crates, filing cabinets, and a single desk. This room was occupied by a single NCR soldier, who was gazing absentmindedly out the window.

Niner glanced at the soldier and frowned, then faced Sandra again.

"I think we got away with that," Niner said softly, then quickly caught himself. "I mean, ah—them raider bastards never saw us coming. How many did you slaughter, private? I killed twenty. Don't know where I'm gonna fit all these medals, I tells ya."

Sandra laughed and nodded, stealing a nervous glimpse of the soldier nearby.

Niner leaned forward and hushed his voice. "Get rid of that gormless idiot. He's ruining everything."

Sandra wanted to protest, to ask him what the hell was going on and why they were risking their necks like this—but she swallowed every urge, turning to the NCR soldier and approaching him silently from behind. She scrambled to think of a witty plan on the spot—and once she did, she tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey—Jackson just instituted a surprise inspection in the barracks, man," Sandra told the soldier. "You good for that?"

The soldier's eyes widened. "Shit… my stash!"

Then, the soldier rushed out of the room with haste.

"Nice work, private," Niner cackled, pulling a cassette device from his pocket and a bottle of blue from his satchel. "Now… just turn this, hold it down… tha's enough glue… there we go."

Niner slapped the device under the desk, and it glued itself in place almost instantly. Just then, the device was blaring music at an alarming volume, blasting a looping lyric on repeat.

_ "I got spurs, that jingle jangle jingle… I got spurs, that jingle jangle jingle… I got spurs, that jingle jangle jingle…"_

The same looping lyric echoed throughout the entire building, making many soldiers whip around and cover their ears in every room—Niner broke into a run, sprinting out of the building at top speed, Sandra rushing to keep up with him.

Their hearts thrashed with excitement as they dashed outside, soaring around the building and avoiding the soldiers best they could. They dove behind the crates out back, lying on the ground and suffocating with laughter, Sandra's head propped on Niner's arm, both of them gasping to catch their breath.

"Ahahaha… maaan, that went perfectly!" Niner sniggered breathlessly.

"Oh my God… I can't _believe_ you!" Sandra giggled madly, swiping her hairs aside and shaking her head. "What the hell even… how the hell did you even…?"

"I had a lotta spare time when I took the road north on my bike," Niner told her, still smirking up at the sky. "Got stuck in a tower surrounded by deathclaws… so I recorded that bit every time it played on a radio, and I stuck it on a holotape. Ahahaah, fuck… I used so much glue, they're gonna need fuckin' _dynamite_ to get that thing out…"

"That's so fucking mean!" Sandra laughed in astonishment.

"And it's fuckin' funny!" Niner chortled in response. "Y'know it is!"

The two of them lay out of sight for a while, laughing ruthlessly and trading snide jokes about Niner's prank. Sandra felt strangely refreshed—it was such a stupid and mundane stunt, but somehow, it made her feel as if all was well in the world. It'd been quite a long time since she had such fun, and she'd almost forgotten what it felt like…

The two of them eventually sauntered out of Primm, Sandra intent on clearing the road of pests so she could receive some kind of payment before leaving the outpost. She and Niner were quick to kill the bugs—as well as ED-E, using his tiny laser to assist them. Sandra was the one who returned to the outpost and spoke to Jackson, graciously taking her reward and trying her damnedest not to laugh at the echoing looping music still blaring all throughout the building.

When it was time to leave for good, Sandra purchased a pair of long-range radios from Lacey the bartender, thinking she might need them in the future. She bought a few waters as well, packing away the two lunchboxes Jackson had given her. As they swaggered out of the outpost, Sandra and Niner took turns kicking large articles of debris down the hill, laughing and seeming to compete to see who could kick farther.

Finally feeling a rush of happiness for the first time in a long while, Sandra headed off toward Nipton, her thoughts far from the dream of the ghoulish face and the memory of the checkered-suited man, unknowing what awaited her in the burned town ahead.

* * *

**_From the author,_**

**_Thanks for reading! Sorry I can't update more often, but there will be more as soon as possible. If you like my story-telling, check out my original apocalyptic work on Amazon. Search Samantha (Ginger) Branum and you can read my whole Doomsday Chronicles Series. The first book stars my dear Sandra!_**

**_Also, my comics (Supernaturally and Aftermath) are available for free on webtoon now. Supernaturally is a supernatural drama, and Aftermath was inspired by a Fallout RPG years ago! It doesn't cost you a thing, but me getting subs and followers will help me to eventually get paid on webtoon. Everyone wins!_**

**_I'd really love some feedback, and thank you so much for reading! Seeya!_**


	4. Troubled Roads

_Note: The chapter, Fox & the Forecast, was not saved to my personal documents and therefore didn't fit with the rest of my story. So, I've deleted that chapter and rewritten this section of the story. Sorry for the confusion, hope you enjoy!_

* * *

The moment the town of Nipton came into sight, Sandra and Niner traded frowns.

No people were in sight, and a few of the buildings were releasing billowing clouds of smoke, some of the debris still smoldering in flames. The entrance of the town was decorated in two red flags, depicting the image of a bull—the mark of Caesar's Legion.

Sandra slowly led Niner and ED-E toward the town, grimacing deeply, a peculiar sense of Deva-vu creeping up on her. Her head began to ache, and she shook the sensation away as they strolled into the broken town.

"Christ in a can… what happened here?" Niner grumped. "I got told this place was a dump, but this can't be right. C'mon, Six. Off to town hall. We're after the mayor."

Sandra thought of replying with a snarky retort—thinking that the mayor was still alive was idealistic on Niner's part. But she remained silent, moving through the town and examining everything in sight—the small flames, the crucified victims strung up and down the main road, and lastly, the red-clad warriors marching out of the town hall opposite her.

The tribal Legionaries stepped down the stairs, all of them clearing a path for their leader—someone who looked to be half their age, possibly Sandra's age, a coyote headdress covering his head, a pair of worn-out goggles tenting his eyes.

At the sight of the dog-headed warrior, Sandra felt another head rush—this one much more painful. She winced, grasping her skull and staring down the road at the stranger.

"Six," Niner uttered, spotting the pained look on her face. "What's a'matter?"

Sandra couldn't answer. Truthfully, she had no idea; recently, she'd been getting flashes of her mysterious past, but this was different. She knew she'd come to the west from somewhere else, and she knew she'd seen eyebots like ED-E in the past—but she never remembered encountering the Legion before. Strange, how the dog-headed warrior seemed to have such an effect on her.

Vulpes Inculta glided down the stairs with a sense of authority, his walk calm, yet powerful. His pensive blue eyes fixated on Sandra and Niner, watching intently as the two of them began to approach.

"Don't worry… I won't have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates," Vulpes spoke in a smooth, eerie voice, nodding at Sandra and Niner. "It's useful that you two happened by."

"Ah… I reckon this is a stupid question, but I gotta ask," Niner replied. "What happened to the mayor here?"

Vulpes revealed a small, icy smile, gently motioning to the pile of tires beside the staircase. The tires were still slowly melting from the flames, and on top was a large mass of charred meat and fat, a few bones visible protruding from the mayor's once-jolly torso.

Niner's face seemed to go pale.

"Not especially talkative now," Vulpes sneered with a soft, wicked laugh. "But… make what you will with him."

"No, ah… no thanks," Niner muttered, shaking his head and glancing away.

Vulpes then turned to Sandra, only just noticing the investigative expression she wore. Her eyes were locked onto him, reading every inch of him as if trying to decode his each and every atom.

"Never seen us before… I imagine," Vulpes figured.

"No, actually… I think… quite the contrary," Sandra mumbled thoughtfully.

"Stare all you like," Vulpes said. "I want you to witness every detail… and when you move on, I want you to tell everyone you meet what lessons Caesar's Legion taught here."

"What lessons?" Niner asked before Sandra could voice her own question.

"Where to begin? That they are weak, and we are strong? This much was known already," Vulpes replied ominously. "But the depths of their moral sickness… their dissolution… they served all comers, so long as they paid. NCR, Powder Gangers, men of the Legion, such as myself… the people here didn't care. It was a town of whores."

"Whores are my kinda—" Niner started, and Sandra quickly slapped her hand over his mouth.

"Each stood by, despite having us outnumbered… and each did nothing, even when 'loved ones' were dragged away," Vulpes rumbled, his tone darkening. "Contract killers, smut-peddlers, sexual deviants and mercenaries without a single rhyme or reason… they deserved retribution. And the Legion exists for such purpose."

"Sounds like they got what was coming to them," Sandra mumbled distractedly, still eyeing Vulpes as though she'd never seen another human being before.

"Yes… they did," Vulpes agreed with a slow nod. "As will all of you… in time."

Vulpes and his men moved to walk away.

"I just…" Sandra blurted, reaching out and preparing to grab at Vulpes. Many of the Legionaries shot her deadly glares, and she quickly withdrew her hand.

Vulpes slowly turned, facing her again and glaring at her expectantly, perking one of his arched black brows.

Sandra took in a heavy breath, somewhat nervous—as the Legionaries were glaring daggers at her now—but nevertheless, she forced the words out.

"Sorry, but… have we met before?"

There was a tense silence following the question, another sharp pain pulsating through Sandra's head. Niner gave her an odd look from behind, and Vulpes stared at her blankly, his eyes hidden and the rest of his visage unreadable.

Vulpes glanced down briefly, eyeing the pipboy on her arm, then leveling his eyes with her again. Sandra and Niner didn't notice—as his eyes were hidden behind goggles—but Vulpes was surveying Sandra's hair rather intently now.

"Indeed we have," Vulpes breathed in a soft, strange voice. "You're impressive, despite your gender… a killer as ruthless as I."

Vulpes marched away with his Legion followers without another word.

Sandra and Niner traded odd glances.

"Wha' in the ruddy hell was that about?" Niner barked.

Sandra sighed, sinking onto the stairs and sitting with her arms wrapped around her legs. "Okay… if we're gonna be traveling together, then… I need to tell you something."

"'Kay," Niner agreed. "All ears."

Sandra frowned, reflecting on her recent past—the only part of her past that came clearly to her, her time working as a courier and traveling through Nevada. Memories farther back remained a cluster of disorganized fragments lost amidst a deep haze, like scattered and damaged puzzle pieces tossed carelessly into a thick fog.

"I've had amnesia for about four years now," Sandra conceded. "Sometimes, I remember random little things for no reason… even though I can't remember when they happened, or what they mean. Well, this is… this is one of those times. I know I've met that dog-headed Legion guy before. I just don't know when, or how, or why."

"Oh… shit," Niner muttered, sitting on the cold concrete beside her. "Damn. Tha's heavy."

"Yeah, well… I don't care all that much, to be honest," Sandra told him. "I mean… not until recently, anyway…"

"Why recently?"

"Well… ever since that checkered-suited guy planted a few rounds in my head… more memories have been coming back."

"Aaah. I getcha."

"So… why did you wanna see the Nipton mayor, anyway?"

Niner hesitated, glancing over at the pile of tires, where the mayor's still-smoldering corpse gave off a distinct scent of BBQed flesh, something he and Sandra rarely encountered, even in the roughest parts of the wasteland.

"I was ah… makin' a delivery," Niner replied slowly.

Sandra squinted at him. "Drugs?"

"Maybe," Niner mumbled.

"So… you're a drug-runner," Sandra figured.

"No… I'm a courier," Niner told her. "Just a delivery boy. Sometimes I deliver packages, or mail… but today, yes, granted, I'm delivering drugs."

"So you're running drugs."

"Nooo, man, I ain't runnin' drugs. I mean it… it was a light jog most of the way here, if anything…"

"You sarcastic f—"

"Listen, Six. Them grunts in the NCR got a lotta chems for when their patrols hit smugglers. Except—this is the clever bit—not all of it gets cleared. Some of it gets redistributed. Y'know? Ain't exactly orders from the brass, but it's ah… it's supply and demand, ya' know."

"That ain't right."

"C'mon, it's just some underpaid NCR grunts tryinna make a little on the side. You know how much them guys _don't_ get paid?"

"Okay, fair enough… what're you gonna do now?"

"Guess I'll just take the drugs back to the meet instead of the money. Not like I coulda done anything else, is it? My package recipient is dead on a pile'a tires."

"Fair point. Where's the meet?"

"Motel room in Novac."

"Good, that's right on the way. But I have one more question for you, Niner—why do you sound British?"

"Because I _am_ British."

"Where're you actually from?"

"California."

"Then how the hell—"

"Six, we gonna hit the road or what?"

"Ugh… fine. We have to double-back to the outpost real quick, but we should be able to reach Novac by sundown."

Sandra and Niner straightened up and marched away from the stairs, ignoring the smoldering fires and the smell of burnt flesh. They spent some time rummaging the old houses and gathering supplies before moving leaving, retracing their steps to the Mojave Outpost and informing Ghost of what they'd witnessed. Afterward, they both headed for the north road briskly, hoping to reach Novac before sunset.

And as they did, Vulpes Inculta sat at his campsite with his Legion followers, a hidden camp on the mountainside between Nipton and Novac, scoping out the nearest NCR camp and keeping a vigilant eye on the roads. Vulpes lay on his stomach over the dirt, he and his first apprentice—a young blonde man named Lupus—both lying low and eyeing the NCR camp through binoculars.

The rest of their scouting squad was making themselves comfortable in the camp, some cooking dinner over the fire while others tended to their recently captured slaves collected from Nipton, all of them former Powder Gangers who were hogtied and left side-by-side in one of the tents. The other Legionaries were out of earshot, and Lupis—noticing this—lowered his binoculars, giving his mentor a curious squint.

"Might I speak freely, Inperator Vulpes?" Lupis inquired.

Vulpes's goggles were hanging loosely around his neck now, his eyes narrowed into slits as he kept a vigilant eye on the NCR camp—and the road in front of it.

"You're supposed to be learning right now, Lupis," Vulpes mumbled. "I spoke highly of you to Lucius and Lord Caesar. Don't make me regret it now."

"I know… and I appreciate that greatly," Lupis told him. "It's just a… minor… curiosity."

"Speak," Vulpes said half-interestedly.

"That red-haired girl," Lupis uttered. "You said you knew her."

Vulpes glared down the mountain, spotting a hint of movement on the broken road leading north.

"How did you know her?" Lupis wondered. "If she's not a laborer for the Legion, or an officer's wife… then how…?"

"I've crossed paths with her once before," Vulpes mumbled distantly, his eyes locked on the road down below, watching as Sandra and Niner waltzed toward Novac. "Only once… though it… didn't go as I…"

He trailed off, observing as Sandra and Niner headed up the road. Vulpes didn't lower his binoculars until they were both out of sight.

"Ah well," Vulpes mumbled. "Take watch, Lupis. Sanctus and his party will arrive on the morrow in order to ambush the NCR camp—and we need to ensure they remain unprepared until then. So, keep watch. Don't disappoint me."

Lupis nodded and held up his binoculars again, Vulpes giving a final glance to the road before marching off to the camp without another word.

* * *

"And the award for the biggest dump town in the wastes goes to—!"

Sandra slapped Niner hard on the arm. He grasped his arm and shot her a look, then stared up at the gigantic dinosaur statue.

"Wha's with the stupid dino-thingy?" Niner griped. "I fought bigger lizards with a switchblade."

Sandra shot him a sarcastic stare.

Niner blinked. "Wha's with the look, Six? It happened, okay?"

"Suuure. I'm sure it totally wasn't a drug-induced hallucination."

"No, it was_ not_ a drug-infused hallucinogen."

"Wow."

"C'mon, Six. You get the room, I'll get the booze."

Sandra laughed and shook her head, sauntering into the office of the Dino Motel while Niner wandered off to trade some goods at the Dino-De-Lite shop. The woman behind the counter, Jeannie, made small talk with Sandra before handing her a room key, and Niner returned in time to follow her up to the corner room of the second floor.

"I got the impression these are more like apartments than motels," Sandra remarked, unlocking the door. "She said we could stay as long as we wanted, until the busy season…"

They both marched inside, Sandra spotting the large bed and staring longingly at it, only just realizing how tired she was. The sun was setting outside, and Niner kicked the door shut, smirking and waltzing across the room. He plopped down in the chair, leaned on the table, and began digging through his satchel bag.

"So, uh… the meet?" Sandra inquired, gesturing to the door. "It's late. I bet your meetup guys are here already."

"Ahh… fuck that, man. I ain't doin' shit today," Niner replied, eager to relax. "We'll deal with it tomorrow. I'm off to a new dimension."

"Whatcha mean?"

"Denver Triple-Dog," Niner said with a sly smirk. "Jet to take you up, steady to bring you down… and psycho for the hell of it. You game?"

Sandra stared at the table, where Niner had unraveled a wide variety of chems from a rolled-up shirt—a jet inhaler, steady injector, and a syringe full of psycho.

"Okay… lemme ask you," Sandra muttered skeptically. "Have you done this before?"

Niner nodded.

"And you surived?"

"'Course I did. I'm here, ain't I?"

"Okay—what're the odds of a non-junkie dying from this cocktail?"

"Ahh, slim to none. Probably. Denver Triple-Dog was my first trip, so I'd say it's safe. Mostly. Ish."

Sandra felt a rising sense of excitement as she stared down at the chems, feeling oddly impulsive. She'd had so much fun since she met Niner—and it was such a nice change of pace. Might as well cling to the fun times. You only live once, after all.

"Fuck it. What the hell," Sandra grinned, rolling up her sleeve. "Hit me. Let's party."

"He-he-_hell_ yeah," Niner beamed. "Inhaler first. Y'want the jet to hit you first. You gotta do it in order, or… your heart might… explode a little bit. But don't worry. This ain't my first rodeo, cowboy."

As Niner prepared the chems, ED-E twittered anxiously at them, though neither of them paid the eyebot any mind. Sandra took a deep inhalation of jet before allowing Niner to inject the other two. Then, they both sat on either side of the table, their eyes drifting shut as the radio played from the corner of the room, their bodies tingling, feeling a soft wave of adrenaline before a strangely calming static spreading throughout their bodies like a cold fire.

Ordinarily, Sandra wouldn't allow herself to be lulled into such a situation—but not so long ago, she felt herself suffocating in a dark mound of dirt packed in from every side, darkness overtaking her world as she knew for certain she would die. Perhaps there was no need to be so careful. Despite her cautious ways, she still ended up getting shot and buried alive. It was time to let go of all the hangups—to just enjoy the ride of life until the ride came to an end, whenever that might be.

The room began to soften in Sandra's sight, her body slouching back in the chair as a wonderful, blissful serenity took over her mind, every color brighter, every thought pleasant. Niner walked across the room at once point, switching the radio to 94.3, Nevada X, the only rock station in the Mojave. An old Alice Cooper song echoed loudly from the speakers, and Sandra's mind soon began a wild journey along with the rhythm of the song.

Niner pulled a cold beer from the fridge, Sandra lighting a cigarette as the two of them sang along to the song, grinning and laughing stupidly as the room became submerged in a strangely psychedelic musical.

_"We go dancing, in the attic… while the moon, is rising, in the sky. If I'm too rough, tell me, I'm so scared… your little head will come off, in my hands… billion, dollar babies…"_

Sandra and Niner danced ridiculously, yanking one another's arms around before Niner decided to set up his rapidly-emptying beer bottles on the balcony outside for target practice. Sandra and Niner spent a while shooting at the bottles, making glass explode into colorful shards that fascinated both of them in their bizarre state of mind. It wasn't long before the neighbors began flooding out of the nearby rooms, shouting vulgarities at the two of them.

When the night came to an end, Sandra ended up lying sprawled crookedly on her back atop the bed, gazing dazedly up at the ceiling as her thought ventured away from her control. The radio now played a Barns Courtney song called _Sinners_, and Sandra's mind traveled with the music—back in time, it seemed, to a time far gone from her life now.

_"Yeeeah, I must be good for somethin'… yeeeah, yeah… oh, sinners, come down… come gather ro-o-ound… oh, sinners, come down, ye-e-eah. Dancin' on cold feet, marchin' on cobble streets… yeah, sinners, come down… ye-e-e-eah. Oh, sinners, come down… come gather ro-o-ound… have a little fun before they put us in the ground… ye-e-eah…"_

The colors in the room began to distort into something else entirely—a place void of color, a place of gray and darkness, rubble buildings as far as the eye could see. Sandra found herself lost to a rage, ducking and shooting, killing every Enclave soldier in sight before she came to—right in front of the Citadel, Charon staring worriedly into her, angrily shaking her and yelling for her to snap out of it.

Then, Charon's reddish face malformed into something new—a dog-shaped head, piercing blue eyes that rivaled her own, a new man standing before her, his expression warped with urgency, shaking her just as Charon was. A wicked explosion rattled the atmosphere just when Sandra ended up on that fateful back road—the Great Khans hitting her over the head—waking up in the graveyard, the checkered suit, the gunshots, dirt piling on top of her, darkness, world fading black… _game was rigged from the start…_

Yet somehow—despite the horrid trauma on her mind—Sandra found herself unraveling a wide, peaceful smile, staring upward in a daze as Charon revisited her mind clear as day.

Sandra fell into a deep, peaceful sleep—until the sunlight bled into the room the next day.

Blinking herself awake, Sandra slowly sat upright, feeling a strange mixture of things—both rested and nauseated. She patted her hair down, glimpsing around and seeing that Niner had fallen asleep lopsidedly on the side of the bed, hanging halfway onto the floor.

Sandra stared aimlessly into him for a long while, trying to remember everything she'd experienced the previous night. She was certain she remembered something about the strange ghoulish face from her past last night, but now, she simply couldn't recall…

ED-E chirped at her, and she gave him a smile, patting his metal shell before turning her attention to Niner again. Sighing, she leaned forward and gave him a shake.

"Niner—wake up."

"Ah… assa… ah…?" Niner moaned, drool pooling on the blanket under his face. "No sir, I didn't take the… no, not the dogs…!"

"Niner!" Sandra hollered.

Niner jumped and fell awkwardly to the floor with a loud THUMP. Sandra barked out a laugh.

"Ah—I'm awake, I'm awake," Niner sputtered, quickly reaching his feet. "Jesus, you tryinna give me a heart attack?"

"Can we just take care of this?" Sandra yawned and straightened up.

Niner squinted at her. "Take care'a what?"

"You know what."

"What the hell're you talkin—_shit_, the deal!" Niner gasped, snatching up his bag. "Yeah, they should be here by now—c'mon. Let's go."

They both marched out of the room, Sandra shielding her eyes from the harsh sunlight. Niner led her down the balcony and the stairs, stopping at the far corner room on the first floor. He grabbed the door knob and turned to her.

"Just stay here," he advised. "As, ah… backup."

Sandra stared at him. "Backup…? I thought these were friends of yours?"

Niner made a face and a sideways nod. "Eeeh… kinda. They're expectin' to get paid, and they're not gonna get that, so… they're gonna be mad. Just stay here."

He opened the door and walked into the darkened room without waiting for a response. As the door swung shut, Sandra sighed and leaned on the wall, crossing her arms and waiting patiently for Niner to finish his business.

Time passed, and Sandra found herself pondering on the near future once more, on the checkered-suited stranger. A festering anger grew in the pit of her gut, picturing the man and wondering exactly how she'd react whenever she eventually tracked him down. Quite honestly, she was looking forward to just getting back to her courier job and putting the matter behind her—but it wouldn't feel right to walk away without finding the checkered-suited man and demanding some answers beforehand. The bastard tried to kill her, after all. Sandra deserved an explanation at the very least. Perhaps even a little retribution.

Just then, a banging noise snapped her out of her thoughts. Sandra blinked and shot the door an odd look—it sounded as if a lamp had shattered inside the room.

"Y'want me to collect from a dead guy?" Niner's muffled voice spoke from inside—then another banging noise occurred, followed by a pained grunt.

Sandra's heart began to pound. "Oh, hell… he's getting his ass kicked…"

After a split second of hesitation, Sandra pulled her shotgun from her back, gave ED-E a look, and kicked the door open.

Niner's back was against the wall, blood oozing from the corner of his mouth. He sank into a sitting position, three grunts standing over him, one holding a baseball bat, the room around them messy and destroyed. The three grunts whipped around in alarm, shooting Sandra a variety of wild looks.

"Chill the fuck out," Sandra snarled, cocking her shotgun. "You're not getting paid today—suck it up and go. _Now_."

The three strangers gave Niner a few nasty scowls before reluctantly meandering out of the room. They walked past Sandra, one of them meeting her eyes and mouthing fuck you. Sandra replied with a snarky smirk and a middle finger.

After the three goons were gone, Sandra sighed and let the gun hang by her side, marching into the room and yanking Niner to his feet.

"Jesus Christ, you're bad news," Sandra griped. "Y'okay?"

"Ah… yeah… looks worse than it feels," Niner groaned, wiping his mouth. "It's hard being an honest workin' man, I tell ya…"

Sandra narrowed her eyes. "Is _that_ what you call it?"

Niner laughed and winced. "Ah, yeah… ye'ap… my liver's broke…"

"Why'd they get so mad? You gave them the chems back."

"Yeah, but… well, I…"

"You what? What did you do?"

Niner shrugged, nodding sideways and making an iffy sort of expression.

Sandra glared at him. "Oh… don't tell me. The chems we took last night—"

"Yeah," Niner affirmed. "Sorry…"

"Holy fuck… you're gonna get us killed someday."

"Naaah, not with you watchin' my back… and me watchin' yours. Everybody else is stupid except for us."

"You got that right."

"Well'p… I guess I can't deal with them no more…"

"Good. You don't need to deal with people like that anymore."

"Ah… yeah… guess not. I just needed some gamblin' money."

"We'll find some work in Vegas. C'mon. Let's go."

Sandra and Niner regrouped with ED-E, and after purchasing some supplies for the road, the two of them headed north from Novac as the day passed by.

* * *

Mr. Burke sat at the old picnic table for a while, feeling as if he was sweltering inside his gray pinstriped suit, as this heat was something he wasn't accustomed to. For a long while now, Sarah Lyons had been chatting with a robed stranger near the concrete ledge of the 188 Outpost, and Bryan was at the front counter of the Grup N' Gulp, grinning happily as he feasted on his first meal since their landing in the Mojave. The vertibird was parked a mile down the road, and this was the first place they'd stumbled upon. It was lucky that they landed so close to civilization, though Mr. Burke was growing impatient, repeatedly glancing over at Sarah in the distance.

Sarah was now wearing her normal clothes, no hint of Brotherhood allegiance on her appearance. She was beaming away, talking a mile a minute with the stranger in the hooded wool robe. Then, finally, Sarah met eyes with Mr. Burke and approached him at last.

"You are_ not_ gonna believe this," Sarah smiled, leaning on the table across from him. "That girl over there—Veronica—_she's with the western Brotherhood_!"

Mr. Burke said nothing, merely perking his brow at her. He glimpsed past her briefly, seeing that Bryan was wandering away from the counter now, heading down the hill to talk to the Forecaster child again. Seconds later, Mr. Burke sighed, straightened up, and gave Sarah a doubtful look.

"And… what does that entail for us?" Mr. Burke asked tonelessly. "Or, should I say… for you and Bryan. I'm not a member, so…"

"Oh… come on," Sarah scoffed caustically. "You know we're gonna look after you. Veronica said she'd take us to her elder so we can join her chapter. Her elder is apparently paranoid about outsiders, but seeing as how we're Brotherhood—"

"You'll be welcomed in like guests," Mr. Burke figured. "That's all well and good, but that leaves little hope for me."

Sarah stared at him. "I told you we'd look after you—"

"And I appreciate that, but please, let's be realistic," Mr. Burke insisted. "If this man is paranoid about outsiders, then your chances of working with this Brotherhood will plummet if I join you there."

Sarah gaped at him for a moment.

Mr. Burke sighed heavily. "Look, I'll… I'll sleep in the vertibird, and I'll find some odd jobs nearby. You two can come back to me once you've figured out your place in this Brotherhood, and then, we can plan from there. Fair?"

Sarah hesitated. "But I wanted you to come…"

"Yes, I know… but you and the boy need a safe destination, and my being there will compromise that," Mr. Burke disclosed. "Just go. I really don't mind."

Sarah gave him a conflicted look. The two of them stared tensely at one another for a moment.

"The guy at the counter said Boulder City's bar is looking for work," Sarah mumbled. "So, if you wanted… it's just down the road…"

"Good. Fine place to start," Mr. Burke said with a nod. "That settles it for me. You two need to go and write your own future now."

Bryan returned to them just in time for Sarah to yank Mr. Burke from his seat, trapping him in a sudden hug. Mr. Burke blinked, giving her an odd glimpse before returning the embrace. Bryan said his goodbyes to Mr. Burke as well, and then, he watched as Sarah and Bryan grouped with Veronica, the three Brotherhood members marching down the hill and slowly vanishing from sight.

After they were gone, Mr. Burke let out a deep sigh, sitting at the picnic table again and leaning over its splintery surface. He folded his arms, eyeing the nearby signs and seeing the one that pointed toward Boulder City, which was only about half a mile away. Wouldn't be a long walk.

Eventually, Mr. Burke stood again, marching past the Grub N' Gulp and heading for the road leading east. As he passed by the counter, he heard the laughter of the nearest customers at the counter, a guy with short black hair and a red bandana, and a girl with deep crimson hair combed over to one side.

Mr. Burke marched to the edge of the 188, slowing to a stop at the fork in the road, his visage morphing into one of confusion. Easefully, he turned and peered over his shoulder, staring back at the Grub N' Gulp and eyeing the two customers in the distance—Sandra and Niner leaning over the counter, play-fighting over their caps as they prepared to pay for their lunch.

Mr. Burke narrowed his eyes intently at the crimson-haired girl, slowly shaking his head and turning away.

"No… couldn't be…"

He marched far down the east road toward Boulder City, and about an hour later, Sandra and Niner took the road north, the tower of the Lucky 38 now directly ahead of them, shimmering welcomingly on the sunset of the Nevada horizon at last.


	5. City of Sin

Upon their first arrival in Freeside, Sandra and Niner spent their late afternoon observing every sight and scene—the good and the bad.

Niner marveled at the weaponry for sale in Mick n' Ralph's, and Sandra gave away her plastic-wrapped dinner to a homeless child on the streets after watching the young boy try to rip a giant rat's carcass open. The Vegas lights danced beautifully past the great gates of Vegas, and Freeside's own lights shone against the darkening Nevada sky as well—particularly the ones that belonged to the Atomic Wrangler. Sandra and Niner grinned devilishly the moment they walked inside—the place was pumped, packed with customers and blaring with music. The two of them forgot about finding a place to stay for the night; instead, they spent their evening partying, drinking like mad and dancing like morons.

At some point—in Sandra's drunken stupor—she grinned dumbly when she spotted Niner against the far wall, furiously making out with a hooker, ED-E hovering above them and twittering madly, neither Niner nor his hooker caring that they were in a crowd. Sometime later, Sandra made the impulsive decision to wander out of the Wrangler, meandering through Freeside at nighttime in the hopes of discovering all the places this town had to offer.

Sandra walked in a crooked zig-zag down the road, smiling up at the House of Impersonation before wandering past the Old Mormon Fort. Somehow, she ended up on the darker side of town, a place housing only rubble and vagrants, little else.

Sandra blinked several times, her head lost to a fog as her legs carried her crookedly down the darkened street. Her eyes narrowed, spotting a figure up ahead, a stranger, standing at the end of an alleyway and waving at her, motioning for her to approach. Shrugging, Sandra wandered over to him.

Before she could reach him, the stranger ran into the alley. Sandra sighed, peering down the alley and following after him. The stranger stopped at the end of the alley, leaning on a dumpster and gesturing for her to come closer.

"Whaaat…?" Sandra moaned, her bangs askew as they dangled over her eyes. "Whaddoya want…?"

The homeless stranger smirked, nodding down at the ground behind the dumpster.

Sandra slowed to a stop, staring downward and seeing a mangled corpse beside the dumpster and the stranger.

"Oh… look… a body," Sandra mumbled carelessly.

"Yeah," the stranger replied with a nasty grin. "Just some idiot who wandered down the wrong alley. Sound familiar?"

Sandra raised her head—and something metal collided with the back of her skull, making her vision explode into stars.

She fumbled to the ground, her adrenaline spiking—just when the stranger and his cronies encircled her, Sandra rolled to the side, just barely managing to whip out her shotgun and hammer her finger to the trigger.

Muzzle flashes illuminated the alley as Sandra shot drunkenly and wildly all around her—the three homeless crooks fell dead to the pavement, Sandra staggering to her feet and nearly falling twice, her head spinning and pulsating. She blew her bangs from her eyes and stumbled out of the alley, her head now feeling heavier than an anchor. Just when she reached the sidewalk, everything faded black, and she hit the concrete hard, falling unconscious instantly.

The moment she hit the ground, the gates of Freeside began to roll closed—as a Followers caravan had just returned from Westside, accompanied by several doctors, a few guards, and two Brahmin carrying empty water sacks. The Followers caravan moved in one large group, passing by the alleyway and heading toward the Old Mormon Fort. Only one of the doctors noticed the figure lying on the sidewalk nearby.

Arcade slowed to a stop, squinting at the girl on the sidewalk and feeling an anxious knot forming in his stomach. He turned to inform his fellow Followers, but they had already rounded the corner, vanishing from sight.

Sighing, he broke away and kneeled on the sidewalk, scanning the unconscious girl up and down and gently turning her over. A small pool of blood had formed on the pavement beneath her, her eyes closed, the acidic scent of alcohol faintly radiating from her.

"Oh… you people never learn," Arcade mumbled, giving her a light smack. "Hey… you all right? Still with us?"

Sandra's eyes barely fluttered, a figure looming over her… doctor's coat…

"Dad…?" she exhaled.

Arcade scoffed out a laugh. "No… no, my name's Arcade. Come on, now. Up and at. Looks like you took a blow to the head. Probably have a concussion. Come here…"

He gently helped her to sit upright, Sandra dazedly leaning against the nearest wall, resting her head against it and rolling her head to the side. Her bleary eyes attempted to fixate on the doctor leaning beside her, Arcade raising his brows and examining her closely.

"I… no… get out…" Sandra moaned deliriously, her eyes trying to close again. "Enclave's… there… don't…"

Arcade narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at her.

Sandra shook her head once, feeling a frightful Deja-vu.

Arcade gulped and grasped her shoulder tightly. "Hey—stay with me. Look at me. Do you know where you are?"

Sandra blinked her eyes fully open, meeting his eyes again and maintaining her stare this time. She gazed into him, releasing a slow, calming breath as she slowly returned to reality.

"Oh… fuck," Sandra breathed, glimpsing around tiredly and wincing at the throbbing pain in her skull. "Sorry, I… just… got jumped… I think…"

"Well… around here, that doesn't surprise me," Arcade replied. "You with me now? Fully awake, more or less?"

Sandra nodded and quickly stopped, as her head felt to be breaking in two.

"Sorry… I'm fine now," she exhaled. "You can go… sorry… I…"

"I really don't think I can," Arcade muttered skeptically. "I doubt if you can even walk straight."

"I couldn't walk straight _before_ I got jumped… hah…"

"Yeah, okay. Thought so. Come on."

"Why… where…?"

"I've got just the place for you, drunken newcomer. It's the Freeside haven for all drunken newcomers. Come on, now…"

"M'kay…"

Arcade helped her to her feet, gently guiding Sandra down the road and into the Old Mormon Fort. Sandra glanced around dazedly, seeing the doctors and tents in passing as Arcade led her into his own tent, one containing two bunk beds, a table and chair, and several books from his medical research.

Sandra plopped down on the bottom bunk and passed out instantly. Arcade rolled up her sleeve, injecting a stimpack into her arm.

"There we go… should keep you from slipping into a concussion coma," Arcade said softly, draping a blanket over her. "Goodnight, now."

Sandra slept the night away peacefully in the Old Mormon Fort, Arcade quietly flipping through his books for a while before retiring to bed as well.

And meanwhile—miles away, across the river—Vulpes Inculta had just returned to the Fort, the current stronghold of Caesar's Legion. Lupis and the rest of his team disbanded to return to their homes and beds, and Vulpes was preparing to do the same—but before he could, Lucius pulled him aside.

"Lord Caesar wishes to speak with you," Lucius informed.

"At this hour?" Vulpes replied. "That's odd."

"Yes, well… he hasn't been himself lately," Lucius remarked. "But he insists that it's urgent."

Vulpes nodded and marched past him, entering the tent at the top of the hill overlooking the battle arena, the tent that belonged to the Son of Mars himself. Despite his many excursions amidst the wasteland—battles and attacks of stealth alike—he still felt a spark of severity whenever he entered the home of Lord Caesar, as did every other warrior among the tribe. A looming tension always hovered in the atmosphere around their Lord and master, and that was something that never diminished for anyone in Caesar's Legion.

Vulpes strode across the interior, passing by the veterans and giving them each a nod. When he approached the throne, Caesar sat before him, a golden leafy crown wrapped around his shaved blonde head, his eyes pensive as they rested on Vulpes intensely.

Vulpes slowly sank to his knee, giving his Lord a bow. "My Lord…"

"Vulpes," Caesar responded, his tone and expression unreadable. "First thing's first… I've heard your endeavor in Nipton was successful, as was the collection of new slaves and the attack on the NCR camp south of Novac. Have I heard correctly?"

"Yes, my Lord," Vulpes confirmed.

"Good. You may rise," Caesar permitted, Vulpes slowly reaching his feet. "I have another job for you now. Something far more important than the pacification of Nipton and Searchlight."

Vulpes raised his brows, waiting for him to explain further.

Caesar slowly reached into his red-clad garment, pulling out a golden necklace.

"The mark," Vulpes uttered.

"Yes," Caesar nodded. "This invitation is for someone of the utmost importance… someone who might play a massive role in our takeover of the Mojave wasteland."

"Yes?" Vulpes said.

"A courier with the Mojave Outpost… Courier Six," Caesar informed, placing the Mark of Caesar in Vulpes's hand. "My source outside of Freemont has just informed me that Courier Six arrived just outside of Sin City earlier today. Which means… she will likely confront her would-be assailant soon."

Vulpes stared at him, now totally lost.

Caesar's mouth curled into a faint, ominous smile. "A chairman at the Tops Casino tried to kill her for the package she was carrying. It's likely she'll be in possession of the Platinum Chip again soon… and when that happens, she needs to be brought here, nowhere else."

"Understood," Vulpes agreed. "But, if I may inquire, My Lord…"

"Go ahead."

"Why does she need to be brought here? Why not just kill her and take the chip?"

"Because she's gonna get some attention from Mr. House. We can use her as another mole on the Strip—a far more valuable mole than the ones we already have."

"Ah, I see."

"So, as my top frumentarius, you will visit the Strip again and give her the invitation yourself."

"Yes, My Lord."

Vulpes gave him a conclusive nod and another small bow, turning and preparing to leave.

"The courier should be easy to spot," Caesar called after him. "She stands out. Red hair, blue eyes, small scar on the forehead—and her name is Sandra. That's who you're looking for."

Vulpes stopped, his visage stony, staring down at the Mark of Caesar and saying nothing.

Caesar eyed him from behind. "Is there a problem, Vulpes?"

Vulpes slowly turned, meeting his eyes and shaking his head. "Not at all, My Lord. I'll depart for Vegas first thing at sunrise."

"Good. See that you do," Caesar said, waving him off. "Goodnight."

Vulpes nodded again, giving the Mark of Caesar a final stare before stuffing it away. He marched out of Caesar's tent without another word.

* * *

Sandra blinked herself awake, her vision straightening out as she absorbed an environment entirely unfamiliar to her.

It was the interior of a tent, sunlight bleeding inside from the entrance, a blonde doctor sitting at the table flipping through books, his back facing her. Sandra slowly sat upright, yawning and patting her hair down, the memories of the previous night slowly returning to her in a hazy fog.

"Oh… Jesus fuck," Sandra breathed, grasping the back of her head, which was pulsating terribly. "Who the hell hit me with a freight train…?"

Arcade spun around in his chair, perking his brow and smirking. "Rise and shine."

Sandra squinted at him. "Did I meet you last night…?"

"In a manner of speaking," Arcade replied, reaching over the back of his chair. "Arcade Gannon. Pleasure to _actually_ meet you."

"Sandra," she replied, returning the handshake. "Thanks for the help…"

"Not at all. That's kinda my whole job here."

"Yeah… well… you haven't seen my friend around, have you? Black-haired guy with a red bandana, traveling with a robot…"

"Does your friend drink or do drugs?"

"Yes. Constantly."

"Then he'll end up here at some point," Arcade surmised. "They always do. Best to just wait."

Sandra nodded quietly, grasping her stomach and trying to ignore the gnawing hunger that was eating away at her.

"Arcade," a woman with a Mohawk—Julie—said as she leaned into the tent. "We need your help out here. We've got an escaped slave from the Legion, but he's only speaking in Latin for some reason."

Arcade nodded and stood, giving Sandra a glance. "I'll be back."

Sandra waved him off. Arcade and Julie walked away, Sandra slowly standing, peeking outside and observing everything in sight—doctors shuffling about, vagrants and refugees sitting around in groups, many of them disheveled or emaciated. Strangely, contrary to her new attitude of partying and fun-loving—now, as she gazed upon the humbling sight before her, she felt a painful empathy tugging at her heartstrings, making her chest ache.

For four years now, it was easier not to care—to work for a wage and live day to day. And now, it was far easier to throw caution to the wind, having fun with Niner and living life to the fullest despite the worldly problems of the NCR, the Legion, and everything else going on—but the state of the people in the Old Mormon Fort was a hell of a thing to wake up to, a real wakeup call, a grim reminder of the world she'd tried so hard to ignore until now.

It felt necessary to stop caring, but looking at these people, for whatever reason, that old feeling of compassion seemed to be creeping up on her whether she wanted it to or not.

Sandra sighed and ran a hand down her face. "Oh, fuck me…"

Rolling her eyes at her own emotions, she stepped out of the tent, wandering around the fort until she spotted someone who needed assistance. Two doctors were unloading crates of food recently sent from the NCR farm, and Sandra helped them to carry all the cargo inside. When she was finished, she peered into several tents until she found a makeshift surgery taking place. So, she offered her help, and the doctors requested that she bring some supplies from Julie's quarters, which she did without question.

After a while of helping people out, Sandra headed back toward Arcade's tent—and Arcade was approaching from the opposite side, both of them locking eyes.

"You know… I have to say," Arcade said, squinting curiously at her. "Of all the drunk people we've dragged in here, none of them have ever taken it upon themselves to start helping out without any rhyme or reason."

Sandra sighed, frowning and glancing around again.

Arcade observed her. "Still worried about your friend?"

"No," Sandra mumbled. "I jus… I just never… noticed all this before."

"Noticed all what?"

"All… this," Sandra said, swatting loosely at the group of vagrants sitting across the field. "I seriously didn't know how bad it was out here. I mean, I found a kid trying to eat a dead rat last night, but that was just one kid. And he seemed fine after a Nukacola and a squirrel on a stick…"

"Well… it's always like this out here," Arcade said somberly. "We do all we can, and that's all we can do. Granted, I'm always looking for new ways, but it's a fruitless waste of time in most cases. Nihil novi sub sole."

"Nothing new under the sun," Sandra sighed distantly.

Arcade's eyes narrowed. "You know Latin?"

Sandra shrugged absentmindedly, staring across the Old Mormon Fort and wearing a disturbed sort of expression.

"Hey—wild question, random shot in the dark," Sandra said suddenly, meeting his gaze again. "If I wanted to help out around Freeside, where would I go first?"

Arcade stared at her. "That is a _severely_ loaded question."

"Why?"

"Because there are a lot of problems in Freeside. More than one person can handle."

"Then come with me," Sandra said with a smirk. "Help me out. You know this place better than I do."

Arcade gave her a strange look. "Come_ with_ you…?"

"Yeah. Me and you can work on Freeside—and I'll take you to Vegas afterwards as a thank you," Sandra offered. "You don't strike me as the party type, but I bet you could still use a night off. We'll help all the people we can, then blow off some steam. All right?"

"Hm. That seems appropriately resolute… and yet vague," Arcade mumbled. "But… I have a sneaking suspicion you might end up wasted in a Vegas gutter if I leave you unsupervised."

"Damn right. C'mon," Sandra laughed, heading for the exit. "Let's go."

At that, Sandra headed out of the Old Mormon Fort with her new friend. The two of them spent the entire day walking around Freeside and talking to various townspeople—starting with the King at the House of Impersonation. Before they knew it, Sandra and Arcade found themselves steeped in a long day of running errands and passing messages, clearing up misunderstandings between the Kings gang and the NCR newcomers. Then, after speaking with Julie, Arcade led Sandra to all the places who might be willing to set up a supply deal with the Followers—finally landing a deal with the Garrets at the Atomic Wrangler. Sandra made a quick search of the building when she stopped at the Wranger, finding no Niner or ED-E anywhere.

When they returned to the Old Mormon Fort at the end of their tireless day, the two of them had accomplished far more than either of them thought possible in such a short amount of time—and to Sandra's relief, Niner and ED-E were inside one of the tents, Niner snoozing loudly on an old mattress, ED-E hovering just above his stomach.

"Oh… here we go," Sandra smirked, glancing at Arcade before leaning into the tent. "Shh. Watch this."

She inhaled a deep breath and screamed with all her might.

"NINER!"

Niner jerked upright, knocking ED-E aside and making him beep irritably. Sandra exploded with laughter, Arcade smirking and shaking his head.

"Oh… yeah… _real_ fuckin' funny," Niner snarked. "Where the hell'ave you been?"

"Saving the freakin' world," Sandra retorted with a laugh. "This is Arcade. Arcade, this is Niner. Make nice and get ready, because we're about to hit New Vegas."

Niner stood and shook the doctor's hand.

"I've heard a lot about you today," Arcade said. "And I've been wondering all day… with all the jet fuel in your veins… how are you even _alive_?"

"I dunno, mate—I stopped questioning that _years_ ago," Niner cackled, grinning and clasping his hands together. "Well—we hittin' Vegas, or what?"

"Hell yeah, we are. I made a lotta money today helping people out—I have _earned_ this," Sandra said excitedly. "I can't _wait_."

"Right… about that," Arcade uttered. "You really don't need to bring me along for this part. I don't care for the Strip, anyway."

"Nooo—you_ have_ to come with us!" Sandra griped. "Come ooon—don't make me go alone with him! He disappeared with a hooker last night!"

"Oy, mate—when was the last time you did anything other than work here?" Niner asked Arcade. "C'mon. It won't kill ya' to live a little."

Arcade glimpsed between their childishly hopeful visages, adjusting his glasses and releasing a defeated sigh. "Oh, all right, fine…"

Sandra and Niner high-fived—they, Arcade, and ED-E all headed out of the Old Mormon Fort together, venturing across town and approaching the great gates of New Vegas as the sun began to set on a darkening blue sky, the Vegas lights dancing and shining more brilliantly than ever.

After passing the credit check, they all marched inside—Sandra's eyes lit up with wonder at the fantastic sight before her, a long, unobstructed Strip stretching far across Vegas, neon lights moving rhythmically up and down Gomorrah, the Lucky 38, the Tops, and the buildings farther down, people yelling and partying in the street, hookers dancing and soliciting to their businesses, a few drunks occasionally stopping to stumble or vomit, music echoing from seemingly every direction.

"It's not a bad place if you love terrible things and people," Arcade remarked. "I'll never understand the allure of giving away your money to the rich…"

Sandra barely heard him; she and Niner were marveling at everything in sight, overjoyed to have finally reached their destination.

"New Vegas, baby—told ya' we'd make it," Niner smirked, facing her and yanking her into a quick one-armed hug. "I'm gonna go get us a room at the vault motel. Meetcha there later, Six. Don't punch any tourists without me!"

"No promises!" Sandra laughed and waved him off, watching as Niner marched down the Strip, leaving her alone with Arcade and ED-E.

"You, uh… getting a motel room here?" Arcade asked, glancing around the spacious and prosperous environment, a stark contrast to Freeside. "We're spending the night in Vegas…?"

"Well, I kinda wanna make sure we have a place to sleep… unlike last night," Sandra snarked in response. "You know how that turned out."

Arcade made a sideways nod. "Well, okay, fair point…"

"Well howdy, partner!"

A robotic voice boomed from behind, making her jump—Sandra whipped around, seeing that one of the securitrons had approached her, a familiar cowboy face plastered on its screen.

"Victor?!" Sandra gasped.

"Consider me your official welcome wagon, partner," Victor replied. "The boss wants to see you soon as he can. Big tower that's shaped like a roulette, right behind me, there…"

Arcade gave Sandra a double-take, Sandra merely staring at Victor half-interestedly.

"I'll head there soon," Sandra told the robot. "I have a couple things to do first."

"Best not to keep the boss man waitin' for too long, partner," Victor disclosed, saluting with his elongated metal arm before rolling away from her.

Sandra watched him go silently, Arcade staring at her as if he'd never seen anything quite like her before.

"How did—why is—okay." Arcade stepped in front of her, giving her a firm look. "Hold the phone. Why are you getting invited to the Lucky 38? Nobody's set foot inside that building in over two-hundred years."

Sandra wasn't sure how to reply, glimpsing between the Lucky 38 and the Tops Casino in the distance, her expression taking on a note of intensity.

"I honestly don't know," she murmured thoughtfully. "But… if it was something worth killing me for… then I'm willing to bet I'm playing a high-stakes game now."

Arcade shot her a look. "I'm gathering that I'm missing some crucial information here…"

"So am I," Sandra determined. "Come on—let's go grab Niner and hit the casinos. I'll tell you everything I know on the way."

ED-E hovered along behind them as Sandra and Arcade marched down the entire Strip—and during the long walk, Sandra told Arcade the entire story, from receiving the package to her near-death experience. When she finished, the two of them were standing at the door of the Vault 21 Motel and Gift Shop, Arcade gaping at her wordlessly for a few seconds.

"You understand what you're involved with now, don't you?" Arcade asked her.

Sandra shrugged and shook her head.

"Sandra—you're directly involved with Mr. House and his security over_ Vegas_ now," Arcade stated, sounding almost astonished. "If you play your cards right, you might influence the future of the entire_ region_, here."

"M'kay. That's cool," Sandra said nonchalantly, pulling the door open. "I just have no idea how to_ do_ that, so…"

"Hey—if you're looking for someone who's pointlessly obsessed with old socioeconomic practices, look no further," Arcade smirked, following her inside. "I won't pretend to be an expert, but I could definitely lend a hand in that situation."

Sandra slowed to a stop inside the Vault 21 lobby, narrowing her eyes at Arcade and flashing a half-smile. "I thought you didn't even wanna stick around…?"

"I didn't wanna come to _Vegas_—but if you're actually trying to fix our broken little corner of the world, I am _completely_ on board for that," Arcade stated without hesitation. "If you end up working for Mr. House, we could make a hell of a difference out here. We might even be able to take it farther."

"I didn't think you were the idealist type."

"Well, I really do try to keep that in check—but how can I ignore this opportunity? You could do_ so much_ with it."

"I don't even know what I'm getting into," Sandra told him, thinking of her courier job and wondering when or if she'd return to simple deliveries sometime soon. "We've gotta poke around the casinos and look for the checkered-suited guy. I've gotta get some answers first. Let's not get ahead of the game yet."

"Right, right…" Arcade nodded and fell silent.

Sandra pondered on what he said, feeling unconvinced. Truthfully, she wanted to find her answers, but she didn't expect the answers to lead her to any place of power or fortune. She only intended to get her answers and get even before returning to her old job.

Now, however—after seeing the fantastic tower and speaking to Victor, after talking to Arcade and mulling over all the information—she knew for certain that something far bigger than a simple profession of couriering was on her horizon. She couldn't know how or why—only that a new era of life felt to be coming to a slow flourish, and an oncoming storm of change was soon to come.

Sandra blinked, shaking the thoughts away just when she spotted Niner in the vault doorway opposite her—wearing a completely different outfit, a crooked wide-rimmed hat with a feather in it, a sleek white button-up with pinstripes, and a brand new pair of jeans with no wear or tears. He was smirking, holding an armful of clothes and sauntering forward.

"New threads?" Sandra asked.

"Man—I'm gonna hafta_ tear_ the women off me," Niner grinned, tossing a couple pieces of clothing toward her. "Don't worry, babe—I got you some, too."

Sandra caught the clothes, holding them out and examining them; one was a curvy red and black dress that hung to the knees, cut low at the chest, and the other was a slender black jacket with various silvery studs.

"And you, doctor man," Niner said, tossing a suit and a hat toward Arcade. "Gonna hafta blend in if we're gonna hunt for this checkered fucker, ain't we?"

"Right," Arcade mumbled.

"Oy—you clued him in, yeah?" Niner asked Sandra. "Told him about checkered fucker?"

"Yeah," Sandra affirmed. "We're all on the same goal now."

"Good-good. You two go get changed, then. We own this town tonight," Niner declared.

They all headed downstairs to the vault motel, stepping into their room and changing their clothes. Arcade repeatedly fidgeted with the fedora on his head, wearing a smooth black suit, and Sandra stepped out of the bathroom with the small red dress hugging her in all the right places, the black leather jacket covering her arms, tortoise shell sunglasses tenting stylishly over her eyes, a small spiked choker around her neck. The dress even matched her nuka-colored pip-boy. The look seemed to work well.

They left ED-E to guard their motel room, and the three of them headed upstairs again, marching outside and strolling down the Strip as if they owned the place, Sandra feeling strangely different—like someone important, almost sexy, something she wasn't greatly accustomed to. But between this stellar outfit, walking in between her suave-looking male companions, and marching under the brilliant lights of Las Vegas, she couldn't help but smile.

Sandra proudly marched up to the double-doors of the Tops Casino, leading her friends inside. And as she did—just a short distance away, another suited man stood leaning on the nearest street light, raising his head from his newspaper and narrowing his eyes intently at the doors.

Vulpes tossed the newspaper aside, inhaling deeply and preparing to follow.


	6. The New Goal

After releasing their weapons to the nearest chairmen, Sandra, Niner, and Arcade headed for the gigantic staircase—but Sandra halted to a sudden stop, jutting her arms out and shoving her friends back.

"What?" Niner barked.

"What's wrong?" Arcade asked.

Sandra stared up the staircase in disbelief—before her very eyes, the man in the checkered suit sauntered down the stairs with ease, accompanied by five bodyguards. She quickly ushered her friends back, hiding them around the corner, not noticing that Vulpes was close by, leaning on the wall and observing her from a short distance away.

"Oooh… issat him?" Niner mumbled, peering out and eyeing the checkered-suited man.

"Don't_ look_!" Sandra gasped, yanking him behind the wall again.

"Why? He didn't shoot _me_ in the face," Niner griped. "Bloke wouldn't know me from a hole in the wall."

They all waited patiently for a moment, Sandra daring to peek out, seeing that the checkered-suited man had ventured across the casino now, far from earshot. She let out a relieved cloud of breath, then turned to the front counter, where another chairman was standing and counting money.

Sparking an idea, Sandra moved toward the counter, leaning on it and gathering the man's attention. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Name's Swank, baby," the man named Swank answered. "What can I do for you?"

Sandra gulped nervously, her friends lingering close behind her. "Who's the guy in the checkered suit?"

"Who, Benny?" Swank replied. "He's the boss man around here. Why?"

Sandra bit her lip thoughtfully—Vulpes leaning against the far wall, lingering behind a large potted fern and eavesdropping intently.

"Benny's been making his own play," Sandra informed.

Swank blinked. "What…?"

Sandra took a deep breath and explained everything she knew—Mr. House's delivery being stolen, her being shot and buried, and everything else. When she finished, Swank was wearing a deep frown.

"Can't believe he's trying to pull a fast one on the big man… after all House's done for us," Swank mumbled grimly. "What else do you know?"

"That's all. What do you think?"

"Jesus, kid… I think we got a real problem on our hands." Swank paused, glanced around, and leaned closer, hushing his voice. "Tell ya' what. I'm gonna give you your guns back—and here's the key to his suite upstairs. Be discrete, and come back with whatever info you find."

Sandra agreed, collecting everything and turning to her friends. "Well, let's go. We're gonna do some snooping before we deal with him straight-up."

Arcade and Niner stuffed their guns away, following Sandra to the far staircase past the casino.

Vulpes watched them go. Then, his deep blue stare ventured across the casino, landing on the checkered-suited man afar. An idea struck him, a small, wicked smirk forming. Straightening up, he took a deep breath and adjusted his fedora, waltzing across the casino and blending in perfectly with every profligate passersby.

Benny was leaning on the far balcony, laughing and joking with his bodyguards. Vulpes approached him easefully, folding his arms and giving him a cold, knowing glare.

Benny slowly stopped talking to his friends, spotting Vulpes, his smile fading. He stepped past his guards and gave Vulpes a look.

"Got something to say?" Benny asked, cocking his head.

"Plenty," Vulpes replied in a coy, ominous voice. "Starting with this—I know your every dirty secret, from burying the courier alive to running off with Mr. House's most treasured item."

Benny showed no change of expression, though his face seemed to go pale.

"This is _not_ the place to go talking about that," Benny uttered, lowering his voice.

"Then, by all means… let's speak privately," Vulpes suggested. "Unless you'd like Mr. House to hear every detail from me right now."

Benny stared at him. "You work for the big man, huh? Shoulda figured. He's got tricks and trades hidden in every nook and crevasse of New Vegas."

"And yet… you thought so highly of yourself, you chose to act against him," Vulpes replied. "Such a selfish betrayal. Surely, that deserves some kind of punishment."

Benny gave him a warning sort of glare, slowly shaking his head. "Come on, now… I know there's gotta be something you want. And, I can almost guarantee you—I can afford whatever it is."

"Are you trying to bribe me?"

"Bribe is an ugly word. I prefer the term investment."

"And you wish to invest in my silence."

"Sure do. Tell ya' what—how's about we cash out, go somewhere more private-like? I'll comp you the presidential suite. Meet you up there in a few minutes."

"Tempting. But… two conditions," Vulpes murmured, narrowing his eyes at the bodyguards. "Lose the guards… and you and I _both_ go upstairs right now."

"If that's what it takes, that's what it takes," Benny shrugged, turning and waving for him to follow. "Come on, Mr…?"

"Fox," Vulpes said.

"Mr. Fox," Benny uttered, making an odd face. "Weird. Okay…"

The two of them stepped into the elevator, riding silently upstairs until the doors slid open. When they stepped out, Benny began to march across the spacious room, passing by the pool table as Vulpes glared heatedly into him from behind.

"So… if we're talking turkey," Benny said. "I think we oughta start with—"

Vulped grabbed him from behind—taking hold and ripping his head sideways with a swift, sickening SNAP.

Benny's body crumbled to the floor at his feet, Vulpes releasing a rushed cloud of breath, smirking coldly down at the fresh corpse. He gulped, leaned down, and reached into the man's suit, searching until he found two items of interest—a silvery, decorative handgun, and a tiny platinum chip.

"So… much… trouble," Vulpes sighed, straightening up and shaking his head at the body. "Over one… weak… _profligate_."

* * *

"What in the actual fuck…?"

Sandra, Niner, and Arcade crept throughout Benny's suite upstairs, snooping around until they found a gaping hole in the wall, tucked in the corner of the bedroom. The hole led to a secret room, where a smiley securitron was standing idly by.

"Hey! Hi there!" Yes Man exclaimed. "Good to see you!"

Sandra, Niner, and Arcade exchanged baffled expressions.

Sandra asked the robot a long series of questions—and the conversation carried on for what felt like hours. The more they talked, the more she learned, and the harder her heart began to pound. Yes Man told her everything—Benny's plan to kill Mr. House and take over Vegas, the Platinum Chip and its purpose, and the location of the sleeping securitron army on standby. When he was finished, Sandra stared strangely at him.

"You're… really… forthcoming with all that info," she muttered.

"Oh, well—I was programmed to ask any and all questions asked of me," Yes Man replied happily. "I guess nobody bothered to restrict who I answer questions for. That was probably pretty dumb, huh?"

Sandra stared intensely into the robot, the gears in her mind turning faster than ever, ideas and possibilities flooding through her thoughts more than they ever had before. Arcade and Niner traded profound expressions as Sandra straightened up, feeling utterly thrilled to ask the next question on her mind.

"Let's say I take over Benny's plan," Sandra smirked ominously. "Benny and Mr. House are both gonna have an accident—and then I take over the plan to seize Vegas. What then?"

"Then I'd have to help you," Yes Man said simply. "I mean, it seems obvious that Benny wouldn't want me to, but hey… not my fault I can't say no."

All at once, any notion of returning to her courier job suddenly vanished from her mind—a vibrant excitement washing over her, a brand new path with a massively prolific goal setting itself up as her new destination. Smiling, she turned to Arcade.

"You were right," Sandra beamed devilishly. "I can do a _lot_ more now."

"Yes, but there's still a lot of work to do before than can happen," Yes Man pointed out. "First of all, you'll have to get acquainted with every faction in the Mojave—and I mean every one. You'll need to decide who you'll keep as allies and who you won't. Second of all, there's still a lot of lawlessness out there that needs to be taken care of. The last thing you need is a rebellious uprising the moment you get into power. I recommend bounty hunting to solve that problem! Sounds like fun, huh? After all of that is taken care of, you and I can come together, take over the Lucky 38 mainframe, and run the region however you want! It's gonna take a lot of time and work, but I think it'll be worth it."

"I can't believe what I'm fuckin' hearin' right now," Niner uttered in disbelief.

"I'm right there with you," Arcade exhaled.

Sandra's coy smirk remained imprinted on her face, a rising ambition taking over her as she pondered on the possibilities of the future. Strange, how it felt as if everything—all her life, from the lost memories to the recent traumas—had been leading up to this moment, as if this was always her destiny, whether she knew it or not.

"Hey, do you mind if we reprogram you a little bit?" Sandra asked the robot. "We're gonna make sure you only work with us from now on."

"Sure!" Yes Man replied with an odd enthusiasm. "Go right ahead!"

Sandra faced Arcade again. "All yours."

Arcade squinted at her. "What makes you think I can…?"

"Because I've _met_ you before, nerd boy," Sandra snarked. "You wanna help me save the world? Rig the robot."

Arcade sighed and knelt in front of Yes Man. After a long while of tinkering, Yes Man's screen seemed to glitch for a moment. Then, Arcade finished, closing the robot's front hatch and reaching his feet.

Sandra waved at the robot, leading her friends out of the room. The three of them stepped out of the suite and marched down the stairs, Sandra's mind working up a storm the whole way. By the time they reached the bottom, she came to a decision.

"You guys… go back to the motel," Sandra instructed. "I can deal with Benny."

Niner and Arcade both gave her bizarre looks.

"Benny's own friends are against him now," Sandra said, swatting loosely toward the front counter where Swank stood. "And Yes Man isn't gonna be useful to him anymore, either. I've got him by the short n' curlies now. I got this. Don't worry."

"Are you sure…?" Arcade uttered uncertainly.

Sandra nodded. "Yeah. I'm good. Seeya later, you guys."

She said her goodbyes, watching as Niner and Arcade marched out of the casino. After they were gone, Sandra turned and stared across the building, seeing that Benny was no longer standing with his guards. So, she moved over to the counter, waving to get Swank's attention.

"Hey—where'd Benny go?" Sandra asked.

"Took the elevator to the presidential suite," Swank replied. "Find anything yet?"

"Tell you soon," Sandra promised, eyeing the elevator and heading toward it with haste.

The moment she stepped into the elevator, a vibrant anxiety arose inside, waging war with her newfound passion and confidence. So many huge and monumental things, all happening at once—she could hardly believe it, and as the elevator ascended, she drew steadily nearer to the source of all her closure, the key to her future.

The doors slid open with a faint ding, and Sandra stepped out—skidding to a stop instantly.

In the center of the spacious and empty suite, Benny's lifeless body lay in a crumbled pile on the lush carpet, his neck twisted disgustingly, eyes gazing emptily up at the ceiling above them.

Sandra stared blankly into the body for several long seconds, totally shocked and at a loss. She couldn't know how or why the man died—but now, she wouldn't be able to question him herself.

After what felt like years, she merely sighed, slowly leaning down and preparing to search the man's checkered suit.

"Looking for something?"

The voice nearly made her jump. Sandra stood upright again, glancing over at the far corner, where an elegant rounded bar resided, complete with numerous fruit bowls and beverages. On top of the bar counter, a suited Vulpes Inculta was sitting on its surface, one leg crossed, fedora half-tenting over his eyes, Platinum Chip twirling between his fingers as he took a nonchalant bite from an apple.

Sandra slowly strode forward, eyeing him almost invasively and feeling utterly baffled.

Vulpes raised his thin black brows, reaching out and offering her the Platinum Chip.

Sandra inched closer, her eyes shifting warily between his face and the chip in his fingers.

"Go on," Vulpes urged. "My gift to you."

Sandra gave him a bizarre look, cautiously taking the chip from him and sliding it into her pocket, not removing her eyes from him for a second.

Vulpes flashed a strangely whimsical smirk. "I know you would've gladly killed the reprobate yourself, but… I needed to cross your path tonight. Seemed a fitting way to do so."

"Why?" Sandra managed. "Why did you…?"

"To give you this," Vulpes said, pulling the Mark of Caesar from within his suit. "The eyes of the mighty Caesar are upon you… and he humbly requests your presence at Fortification Hill."

"The… _Legion_?" Sandra muttered incredibly. "They wanna see me? Why…?"

"Why, indeed," Vulpes mumbled distantly, his eyes seeming to read every inch of her. "Seems you've stumbled into a predicament of importance… hardly the future I would've thought."

Sandra glared into him, her head beginning to ache. "Who are you…?"

"I am Vulpes Inculta," Vulpes replied. "Of Caesar's Legion—"

"No—who_ are_ you?" Sandra asked insistently, stepping closer. "Who are you to_ me_?"

Vulpes's eyes bled into hers, two piercing blue stares, though he saw no recognition amidst her gaze, only frustrated confusion.

"You really don't remember," he sighed.

"I'm from the _east_," Sandra told him. "How the _hell_ could me and you know each other?!"

Vulpes slowly slid off the counter, leveling with her and standing only a few inches away. The two of them stared profoundly into one another. His hand raised, fingers looming near her face, her combed-over bangs. Then, he withdrew his hand and straightened out.

"Seek Caesar by way of Cottonwood Cove," he instructed, turning away and marching toward the exit. "My Lord awaits."

Vulpes stepped out of the room, Sandra staring silently after him for several minutes afterward.

Even after she returned to the Vault 21 motel later in the evening—while Niner and Arcade slept soundly in their beds—Sandra lay awake, gazing up at the ceiling and pondering on the mysterious Legionary all night long. She didn't drift off to sleep until nearly sunrise—and by the time she awoke, Arcade and Niner were just returning to the room from the motel's restaurant, carrying trays of food and placing them on the table. Niner quickly dug into the food, Arcade pausing and giving Sandra a thoughtful squint.

"Hungry?" Arcade said. "Come join us. And… no pressure… but I'm sure we'd be willing to listen if you updated us on whatever happened last night."

Sandra sighed, combing her hairs down and joining them at the table. As they ate, she told them every detail of her evening, concluding with her meeting with Vulpes and her informing Swank of Benny's passing, which ultimately left Swank in charge of the Tops Casino. When she was done, Niner raised his brows and continued eating, Arcade giving her a deep and pondering stare.

"Does Mr. House not care that one of the Legion's most notorious spies is walking around on the Strip?" Arcade inquired.

Sandra shrugged and took a swig of Nukacola. "Either that, or the securitrons can't recognize the threat he poses."

Arcade frowned. "Neither possibility is particularly comforting…"

"Mmm… wait… hol' up a sec," Niner said with a mouthful, swallowing and eyeing Sandra. "That bloke—is he the same guy we saw in Nipton? That dog-headed fucker?"

Sandra nodded.

Niner narrowed his eyes at her. "That's weird, Six. That's really fuckin' weird."

"What's weird?" Arcade asked.

"That Vulpes guy—he acted like he knew her when we saw him before," Niner explained. "And now he's followin' her around in Vegas, too. That's real fuckin' weird."

"How… could you possibly know him?" Arcade wondered, squinting at Sandra oddly. "The Legion don't allow women to rise in their ranks… and you hardly strike me as the foe-Roman type."

"I'm not even from here, either," Sandra added with a shrug. "I'm from out east. I have no idea how me and him could…"

Arcade observed her. "You have some kind of memory loss, don't you?"

Sandra met his eyes. "Is it obvious…?"

"Well… from your recent head injury to your complete lack of recognition to someone from your past… it's not exactly difficult to figure out," Arcade determined. "But, in all honesty, I really don't think it matters. We have a bigger problem to address."

"We do?" Sandra and Niner said in unison.

Arcade nodded, his expression taking on a tone of seriousness. "You've been invited directly into the mouth of hell… and Fortification Hill is where Mr. House's other base is, housing his securitron army. If you're gonna awaken that army, you have to go there."

"Why would we _want_ to awaken the army?" Niner asked.

"Because it's gonna become_ my_ army," Sandra told him. "I need to talk to Mr. House and learn whatever I can… and when the time's right, I'm gonna relieve him of power. Hopefully before anything happens to Hoover Dam again."

"That's gonna be a long game," Arcade told her. "Judging from everything Yes Man said… we're gonna have to cover a_ hell_ of a lot of bases before another battle for Hoover Dam arises. We're talking about a ridiculous amount of traveling, research, and eliminating the worst sorts of people from power across the region. We'll have to get our foot into the doors of every faction, and we'll have to make allies out of whoever we possibly can—that means every sect of people across the Mojave, and every family of people here on the Strip."

Sandra stared at him, wearing a smirk.

Arcade blinked. "What?"

"You are _so_ into this," Sandra remarked. "God… when I first met you, you seemed like you just accepted all the shitty crap going on. But now you're like… _really_ hyped to change everything."

"Well… now that there's actually a way of _doing_ that," Arcade replied with a sideways nod. "You're absolutely right. I _am_ hyped to make change. That's the sort of change that's been long overdue around here."

"Ah… I reckon we're not gettin' rid of him now," Niner laughed, nodding at Arcade. "One night on the Strip just turned into an entire life goal for this motherfucker."

"Good. We need someone with a brain on our team. No offense, Niner—but between me and you, we'd run Vegas into the fucking ground," Sandra laughed. "We'd live like kings for about a week before everything went to shit."

Niner shrugged with a halfhearted nod. "Not gonna argue with that…"

"The more immediate problem rests with the Legion," Arcade disclosed, leading the conversation back on track. "Because we have to pick and choose which factions remain in this region—and the Legion is _definitely_ the greatest threat we have. We need to figure out what we're gonna do about that. And—again, no pressure—but you just got invited to Caesar's doorstep, Sandra. If we wanted to plan one big move against the Legion, now would be the time."

A small silence fell, all of them trading eyes, ED-E hovering around in a circular motion above their heads.

Sandra stopped eating, leaning on the table and intertwining her fingers thoughtfully. Walking up to Caesar and opening fire would be the worst idea ever; she and her companions would be shot down instantly. If they wanted to take out Caesar, they'd have to do it in a stealthy way—a way that they would get away with without taking blame, a way that would allow them to leave the belly of the beast before anyone could enact retribution.

"They're similar to the Enclave in a way," Sandra pondered aloud. "Big on faith systems. The Enclave believed in 'Merica propaganda, and the Legion believes in Caesar's weird religion. Taking out the leader of the Enclave made them slowly crumble apart… and taking out Caesar would do the same thing, hopefully. That's what happens when a faction relies on a faith system. Killing the leader is a huge blow to them."

Arcade's eyes narrowed, reading her expression thoroughly.

Sandra sighed and massaged her temples, trying to shake away a sudden headache. She paused for a moment, repeatedly grasping her wrist and releasing it.

Arcade glanced down at her wrist, where a crooked burn mark was visible on her skin.

"Sorry, but… I feel the need to ask," Arcade muttered. "Do you have some kind of history with the Enclave?"

"Ah, she don't remember," Niner answered for her, taking a huge bite of his Brahmin burger. "She can't remember nothin' from before four years ago."

"Colonial Autumn," Sandra murmured, leaning on the table and staring downward, cradling her head. "No, that wasn't… no, it was the president… the _president_…"

Arcade and Niner both fell eerily still, staring at her and watching as loose fragments of memories returned to her.

"OH!" Sandra yelled suddenly, slapping the table and making them both jump. "He was a freaking_ robot_!"

Niner shot her a look. "The_ hell_ are you talkin' about?"

"The president of the Enclave—he was a fucking computer!" Sandra exclaimed. "And he blew himself up because I told him to!"

Niner and Arcade both stared at her in bewilderment.

"Oh, God… I can't remember why," Sandra sighed, leaning on the table again. "Why was I even there? Why did that happen…?"

"Okay," Arcade mumbled strangely. "_Any_way… if you _did_ have some past experience with the Enclave… it would explain a lot. Precisely, it would explain why you're traveling around with an eyebot. Er… robot. That round robot thingy."

"Nah, we just found that thing laying around in Primm," Niner said, pointing up at ED-E. "He ain't from where ever Sandra's from. He's from here."

"Yes—and I _love_ him," Sandra grinned, reaching up and pulling ED-E down, wrapping her arms around the tiny round eyebot. "He's so cute, and lively, and beepy… and he never plays Enclave Radio. No you don't! You don't play stupid Enclave Radio, do you? No you _don't_!"

Sandra shook him around and spoke in a baby voice, making ED-E twitter happily and flicker his antennas in delight.

"It seems… oddly… sentient," Arcade mumbled, eyeing ED-E closely. "Almost responsive. Emotionally so. Maybe someone equipped him with bio-gel… not that I would trust it if they did…"

"What?" Sandra took back, hugging ED-E tighter and looking almost offended. "What's your problem with Eddie?"

"It just… I don't know," Arcade shrugged and made a face. "It just seems a little twitchy to me. I mean, you really can't trust robots all that much. One minute, it's floating around all hunky-dory, and the next, you're cleaning up the ashy remains of some poor bastard it vaporized on the landing pad of a vertibird."

Sandra and Niner both stared at him.

"That's kinda paranoid, man," Sandra commented.

"Is it?" Arcade asked, leaning on the table and raising his brows at her. "_Is_ it…?"

"Yeah. It is," Niner chuckled. "Trust me, I _majored_ in paranoia—you're fuckin'_ buggin_', dude."

"Be nice!" Sandra demanded, jutting her arms out and holding ED-E directly in front of Arcade's face. "Be nice to Eddie! Pet him! Pet him or you're fired!"

Niner laughed. Arcade sighed and rolled his eyes, giving ED-E a disdainful look before gently patting the top of its metal exterior. ED-E beeped joyfully in response.

"We are _seriously_ getting off track," Arcade grumped. "We need to figure out what to do about the Legion."

"I got it. Bomb the place and walk away," Niner snickered, taking another massive bite from his burger. "Overkill, baby. Excess is the American way. Hah."

Niner laughed at his little joke, but Sandra stared at him, an idea hitting her and making her thoughts run wild. She revealed a beaming smile.

"Niner—you are a goddamn _genius_," Sandra grinned. "You guys, listen to me—a couple years ago on the radio, I heard about this place called the Divide. Someone took an atomic time bomb there and blew the place all to hell."

Niner and Arcade both squinted oddly at her.

"We can do the same thing!" Sandra proclaimed. "Not with an A-bomb, something smaller—we make a small time bomb, plant it somewhere near Caesar, and we'll be gone before it ever goes off!"

Niner smirked. "I still got some dynamite leftover from Primm."

"Yes—and _you_!" Sandra pointed at Arcade. "You can make a time bomb, right?"

"Well… I happen to know a simple home recipe that involves duct tape and an egg timer," Arcade replied. "But that's an _extremely_ risky plan."

"Arcade—what's the alternative?" Sandra asked him straightly. "Facing the Legion when they're at their strongest and possibly losing to them in the war?"

Arcade gave her a long, profound stare. After a moment of thought, he gave her a definitive nod.

"All right. Good point," he agreed. "I guess that's it, then. We're gonna go to the Fort and assassinate the leader of Caesar's Legion."

Sandra smirked and nodded, placing her hand in the center of the table. "It starts here, you guys. It starts with us—we're about to make history here. No more making deliveries of drugs and Platinum Chips, no more hiding away and doing research. From now on, the three of us are working toward something way bigger. We're working toward an independent Vegas. That's the new goal for all of us—and it starts here, _right_ now."

"Niiice. We're gonna live like fuckin' kings," Niner smirked, placing his hand over hers.

"And we're gonna make the world a slightly less horrible place," Arcade added, resting his hand on top of theirs.

"Hell yeah," Sandra stated. "We got this."

They withdrew their hands, all of them feeling a rush of excitement at their future plans. Then, Sandra squinted at Niner, trailing off from her thoughts and noticing something about him that she never had before. He was wearing a tiny, slender earpiece that curved around the side of his face.

"What the hell is that thing?" Sandra asked, pointing at the device.

"What… this thingy? It's a headset," Niner answered. "Why, y'want one? I got a spare. Always break 'em for some reason."

"Does it work?"

"Yeah. Me and my mates used to use 'em. We could keep in touch no matter how far one of us wandered off."

"So it's like a walkie-talkie?"

"Ye'ap."

"Dude—that's perfect," Sandra marveled. "We can wear those when we're at the Fort. Caesar and his followers are probably gonna be talking to me and taking up a lot of my attention—but you guys are just gonna be along for the ride. You can sneak off and plant the bomb while I'm keeping them busy."

"I'm gonna have to buy a new bag," Niner mumbled. "Gonna end up carryin' a bomb and all my other shit…"

"So… after we get what we need and make this bomb, we head directly south for Cottonwood Cove and wing it from there," Arcade surmised. "That's the plan?"

"Yup," Sandra affirmed, reaching her feet. "Let's go. We got a lot to do now."

After finishing their meal, they all left the motel room with their belongings, heading off to buy everything they needed—once they were in their regular outfits again, they made various stops in Freeside, Arcade purchasing the needed materials while Niner bought himself a huge green duffle bag that fit over his shoulder. Sandra stocked up on 12-gauge rounds and stimpacks, and once they were done, she placed her sunglasses on, adjusted the headset on her ear, and marched out of Freeside's gates with her companions, striding with a new sense of purpose—one so empowering and lush with grandeur, she simply couldn't help but smile.

She hadn't felt so empowered in nearly five years, after all.


	7. The Mouth of Hell

"Sorry… another bouncer just signed on. I don't have any more work right now."

Mr. Burke sighed, leaning on the bar's surface and nodding at the bartender of Boulder City's saloon. "Very well. I understand."

The bartender gave him a wave and a halfhearted smile. Mr. Burke turned and strolled out of the saloon, squinting at the sunlight from behind his sunglasses and beginning his long walk back to the vertibird, Boulder City slowly vanishing from sight behind him.

As he wandered past the 188, Mr. Burke slid his hands into his pockets, mulling over his thoughts and shaking his head. "Work like that hardly suits me, anyhow…"

He pondered on his predicament, wondering what he could possibly do next. Sarah and Bryan were working with the western Brotherhood—meanwhile, Mr. Burke was left alone, nowhere to go and no work to take on.

Then, he slowed to a stop, turning his head and eyeing the great city in the distance.

The remnants of Las Vegas sat welcomingly on the horizon, sparkling against the Nevada sun as the tower of the Lucky 38 reached into the sky so beautifully, it was almost arrogant in its glory, as if it was reaching into the heavens and challenging God himself.

Mr. Burke revealed a sly little half-smile. The Lucky 38 almost reminded him of Tenpenny Tower, standing so tall above a broken world that couldn't possibly match its grand presence.

"Work in_ Vegas_, however," he murmured ominously, strolling toward the city without any forethought. "Now… _that_ would suit me just_ fine_."

* * *

After a long and tireless journey toward the south—and after carefully maneuvering away from areas like Searchlight—Sandra, Niner, Arcade, and ED-E finally found themselves approaching the long, steep hill that stretched down toward the river, leading directly into the Legion encampment of Cottonwood Cove.

The time bomb was finished and tucked safely in the bottom of Niner's duffle bag. Arcade had set the timer to detonate half an hour after activation. If everything went according to plan, they would have just enough time to depart the Fort before the bomb would explode, hopefully killing Caesar in the process.

Though now, as they approached the Legion camp, the three of them felt a gnawing nervousness arise inside, as the severity of their actions was finally becoming apparent. Arcade gulped, turning away from the side of the road after seeing a crucified corpse perched beside the street.

"Okay… I just had a bad thought," Niner mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh, good," Arcade quipped in response. "I thought I was the only one drowning in a sea of terrible possibilities…"

"No, seriously… what if they search us?" Niner asked, slowing to a stop in the street. "What if they take all our stuff? Then we're fucked."

Sandra sighed, biting her lip and trying to think of a solution.

Arcade whipped around suddenly, narrowing his eyes at ED-E. Without warning, he grabbed the eyebot out of the air, reached underneath its tiny red banner, and turned a small mechanism on his shell. Then, a metal hatch opened, revealing an open space inside ED-E's robotic body.

Sandra gaped at ED-E, then turned to Arcade. "He has a storage compartment? How'd you know that…?"

"Ahm… lucky guess?" Arcade shrugged, facing Niner. "Gimme the bomb. Hurry, before someone sees us."

Niner nodded and slid his enormous duffle bag off, digging through his belongings before finding the time bomb—a rigged device made of taped-together duct tape, an egg timer and a few wires glued directly in the center. He cautiously slid the bomb into ED-E's storage compartment, and Arcade closed the robot's metal hatch, Niner strapping his bag back on before they all resumed their pace downhill.

"Now… before we get there, I just have to say," Sandra said, leading her friends directly toward the mouth of hell. "If anything goes wrong, just abort the plan. We'll beat the Legion with the securitron army someday later down the road. It'll be harder, but we'll make it work somehow. So, if something goes wrong, then don't bother planting the bomb. I don't want any of us dying in here, and we're already taking a hell of a risk just by walking into this place."

Arcade nodded quietly.

"Ah, hell, Six… I'm gonna get it done one way or another," Niner remarked. "I ain't doing this for nothing. Fuck, I got the shakes…"

He pulled a syringe from his pocket, injecting a dose of steady into his arm as he walked, releasing a slow, calming breath.

"Yeah… enjoy that while you can," Arcade muttered. "They'll probably confiscate that from you once we're inside. Chems are considered punishable by crucifixion among their lovely little society."

"Fuckin'a… whole tribe of buzz kills," Niner griped.

"Halt!"

The three of them froze mid-step, Sandra spotting a Legionary further down the hill.

"What business have you in Cottonwood Cove, outsiders?" the Legionary called out.

Sandra reached into her leather jacket and pulled out the glistening golden necklace given to her by Vulpes.

"You bear the Mark of Caesar," the Legionary realized. "Very well, you may proceed—but be warned. Mark or no, we will not tolerate violence or mishaps in our territory."

Sandra nodded, she and her friends marching past as the Legionary wandered off toward his camp. As they walked, Arcade and Niner took turns surveying the camp around them warily.

"I just had another bad thought," Niner uttered.

"Stop it," Sandra scolded quietly. "Stop having thoughts. Stop thinking."

"No, seriously… listen," Niner mumbled, leaning over and muttering to her. "If Vulpes knows you… then maybe the rest of 'em know you. Maybe you crossed paths with the whole Legion at some point, Six."

"I seriously doubt it," Sandra replied. "I'd either be a slave or someone's wife. I wouldn't be a freelance courier."

"I don't know," Arcade uttered doubtfully. "You seem to know a bit of Latin, Sandra. That's not something most people just pick up on."

"_You_ did," Sandra argued.

Niner quickly shushed them both, nodding up at the nearest building, where a Legion veteran was guarding the town from above with a rifle, his eyes locked firmly on Sandra and her group.

"Oh shit—say something," Niner urged. "Tell him why we're here. Before he shoots us."

Sandra held up the Mark of Caesar—then, Arcade stepped forward, tapping the gold necklace and staring up at the Legion veteran. He said a long string of Latin words—and seconds after, the veteran nodded, lowering his rifle and facing away.

Sandra and Niner released a massively relieved breath, both of them walking off with Arcade and ED-E following in their wake.

"This is unbelievably nerve-wracking," Arcade exhaled. "Let's just get where we're going. Fortification Hill is up north, which means we're probably gonna be traveling there on the river."

Sandra nodded and led them toward the dock, marching down the wooden walkway that stretched over the crystalline waters of the river. A tall black-haired Legionary awaited them at the end of the dock, standing beside a boat and motioning for them to board. They exchanged cautious glances before they all climbed into the boat one by one, and then, the Legionary pushed his ore against the dock, guiding the boat down the river and beginning their journey to the Fort. No turning back now.

After a tense and silent boat ride, the Legionary led them up a patch of land, a dirt trail that stretched up to the wooden gateway of Fortification Hill. Once they were inside, numerous tents, slaves, and Legionaries were in sight—and the nearest Legion guard held out his arm, stopping Sandra and her friends.

"By order of Caesar, all banned items are to be confiscated," the guard informed.

Sandra gulped. "What's considered a banned item?"

"All weapons and all chems," the guard replied. "They will be returned to you upon your departure of Fortification Hill."

Sandra nodded quietly. She and her friends handed over their chems and firearms, all of them silently praying that ED-E wouldn't also be searched or confiscated. Thankfully, the Legionaries didn't seem to care about the robot's presence.

So, onward they marched. Sandra and her friends ventured up a long rounded hill, two Legion boys sprinting past them and chasing one another. Once they reached the top, the drawbridge brought them to the heart of the Fort, all of them surveying the tents and people in passing. The battle arena was directly ahead—and towering above it was the largest tent in the camp, the one that belonged to Caesar.

Sandra walked around the battle arena and approached the tent, which was also occupied by guards. The guard on the left was quick to address her.

"You must enter Caesar's tent alone," the guard stated.

Sandra nodded, turning to her friends. "Okay. Well… while I'm doing business with Caesar, you guys just wait. Maybe go have a look at some of the food and medical tents or something. Barter for some healing powder. We could use some."

Arcade and Niner nodded with silent understanding.

Sandra turned, took a deep breath, and marched into the home of the Son of Mars.

While her companions wandered off to do some 'trading,' Sandra slowly made her way across the tent, passing by several veterans with crimson-clad armor and power fists. She approached the decorative throne at the end, locking eyes with Caesar—and directly beside him stood Vulpes Inculta, still wearing his suit and fedora from his visit to the Strip.

A looming tension took over the atmosphere as Sandra slowed to a stop before Caesar's throne, pulling out the Mark of Caesar and offering it to him.

"Got your invite," she said.

Caesar slowly nodded, taking the golden necklace from her and thoughtfully intertwining his fingers. "So… I finally get to meet the courier who's making such a mark on the Mojave."

"I… don't know what you mean," Sandra muttered.

"Oh… come on," Caesar said with a caustic little smirk. "A man nearly kills you, and your response is to track him across the breadth of the Mojave? You assassinate him in his own hotel, and get away with it? When you set your mind to something, you get results. I_ like_ that."

Sandra swallowed nervously, glimpsing at Vulpes and saying nothing. Evidently, Caesar had no idea about Vulpes's hand in Benny's death, but it didn't matter. It wasn't a topic worth bringing up.

"The question is," Caesar said, leaning forward and eyeing her intensely. "Are you ready to get started making a _real_ difference now?"

"Sure," Sandra agreed. "Where were you looking to start?"

"Passionate _and_ cooperative. I'm liking you more and more," Caesar said with a sly smirk. "The building down the hill from here—it bears the same insignia of the Lucky 38 Casino. The bunker inside is sealed away, and it can't be pried or blasted open—but the security system is equipped with a slot the exact size and shape of the Platinum Chip you carry. Isn't that interesting?"

"Okay. You want me to go down there?" Sandra guessed.

Caesar nodded. "Yes—and I want you to destroy whatever you find. Then I want you to come back here and tell me about it. You'll be sitting pretty for the rest of your life if you serve me well—but this is how you _prove_ your allegiance. It must be done by_ you_."

Sandra nodded in response, thinking of everything Yes Man had told her. In reality, she planned to upgrade the securitrons and awaken the sleeping army—but Caesar didn't need to know that little detail.

"Okay… I'll get it done," Sandra said conclusively, preparing to leave.

"Hold on." Caesar's voice seemed to strengthen. "I'd like to believe you're simply eager to jump on board the bandwagon—but I'm not so open-minded that I'm willing to trust you blindly. You need to prove your loyalty by completing this task, but I don't plan to send you down there unsupervised."

Sandra inhaled heavily, showing no reaction, though she felt her stomach make an anxious churning in the pit of her gut.

"Vulpes," Caesar said, turning to his head frumentarius. "You will accompany Courier Six into the bunker and make sure she completes the task I've given her."

Vulpes gave a slight bow. "Yes, My Lord."

Sandra's heart was hammering with rampant nervousness now, though she kept it all inside, appearing nonchalant as Vulpes joined by her side.

"You may go," Caesar dismissed, waving loosely at them.

Vulpes nodded, met Sandra's eyes briefly, and marched toward the exit. Sandra sighed and gnawed her bottom lip, following him outside.

The two of them walked in silence for a few minutes, Vulpes leading her down the opposite hill from where she came. Sandra spotted her friends in passing, seeing that Niner and Arcade were walking away from a Legion hunter after purchasing some grilled meat on sticks. Hopefully, they would enact the plan soon…

Vulpes opened the door of the building and led Sandra inside. The interior was dark and dingy, and inhabited by a few more Legion guards, one of them holding Sandra's bag and shotgun.

"Return her belongings," Vulpes instructed, approaching the security system. "We have no way of knowing what type of security awaits down there."

The nearest guard handed Sandra her bag and gun. Then, Sandra inhaled heavily and approached the security system, inserting the Platinum Chip into the slot. There were various noises and tremors in the ground, and seconds after, the bunker doors opened welcomingly, revealing a metal staircase that led underground.

Sandra and Vulpes ventured downward, passing by a large computer screen depicting the face of Mr. House. Once they reached the bottom, Sandra spotted a protectron, which was raising its arm and preparing to fire its laser. Before she could open fire, Vulpes strode downward briskly and planted a solid KICK into the head of the robot, shattering it and making it crumble to the floor.

They stepped over the broken bot, warily heading deeper into the bunker, Sandra feeling a bizarre mixture of awkwardness and anxiety. She stole a few glimpses of him as they walked, her head aching more and more each time she observed him.

"I have a weird question," Sandra said, finally breaking the silence.

Vulpes didn't respond.

"How did you end up in the Legion?" she wondered. "You seem kinda young, so… I can't imagine you just joined it willingly one day."

Vulpes glimpsed at her, then squinted into the darkness again.

"I've already told you that story," he eventually replied.

"Well… I can't remember," Sandra said.

"Clearly," Vulpes sighed. "I was a child when Lord Caesar pacified my tribe. My parents attempted to sell me as a bribe, but it didn't work. I might've thought it tragic at the time… but truly, it was a blessing."

"Jesus," Sandra exhaled. "Your _parents_ did that? That's cold."

"It hardly matters," Vulpes synopsized. "Caesar gave my life true meaning."

"Really…?" Sandra mumbled. "You really believe in Caesar's whole… thing?"

Vulpes glared directly ahead, choosing not to respond.

"Okay," Sandra mumbled as the two of them emerged in a clearing. "I have another question… purely hypothetical, just out of curiosity. What would you do if you didn't have the Legion anymore?"

Vulpes eased to a stop, narrowing his eyes into the darkness.

"If you woke up one day," Sandra said. "And the Legion was just—"

"_Hush_," Vulpes hissed, raising a hand and holding a finger to his mouth.

Sandra fell silent, following his trail of vision. She heard the faint humming of machinery close by—and far ahead in the darkness, she was just able to see two tiny red lights, presumably more security robots.

Sandra and Vulpes traded eyes, raised their firearms, and opened fire.

Two small explosions erupted across the clearing as the turrets blew apart.

Vulpes holstered his pistol, Sandra lowering her shotgun as the two of them resumed walking.

"I would die," Vulpes uttered grimly moments later.

Sandra glanced at him. "What…?"

"If the Legion ceased to exist, my purpose would as well," Vulpes told her. "So… in however manner fate dictates… I would die with my Legion."

"What… _really_?" Sandra uttered in disbelief. "That's it? You wouldn't try to start over somewhere else? I mean, you didn't even have a choice, here. Your options were to grow up in the Legion or die as a child. That's just—"

"I live for My Lord," Vulpes told her firmly. "Nothing more or less."

Sandra went quiet again—and suddenly, a piercing pain shot through her skull, a far gone memory returning to her out of nowhere, a raspy, ghoulish voice echoing from the back of her mind.

_Charon was raised by an interesting group of people. They… well, I guess you could say they brainwashed him._

Sandra slowed to a stop just before reaching another hallway, making a thoughtful face and cradling her shotgun. She squinted through the darkness, reading the name inscribed on her firearm, reading_ Charon_. She still didn't have the faintest clue who Charon was—but right this moment, she was certain of one thing for sure.

This strange sympathy she felt for a brainwashed warrior was most assuredly something she'd felt before.

Vulpes stopped at the hallway, turning and eyeing her. "What?"

"Nothing," she sighed, marching after him. "Nothing…"

They strolled down the hallway, shooting a couple of protections on the way. After passing a couple of rooms containing generators and machinery, Sandra and Vulpes approached a final staircase, following it upward and opening fire instantly—obliterating the three turrets in the final room.

This room contained a slender window that overlooked a sleeping army of securitrons, as well as another computer system—one with the same slot designed for the Platinum Chip.

Vulpes glanced around before turning away from the window dismissively. Sandra stared longingly into the computer system, wanting to insert the chip and awaken the army—but she couldn't hope to do so with Vulpes present.

After a moment of thought, she turned to him.

"Hey—I think the machines downstairs are the ones we need to destroy," Sandra informed. "I have a plan. Let's go back downstairs, double back, and make sure there's no more robots. After that, we'll destroy everything. Sound good?"

Vulpes nodded and double-checked his pistol, heading for the stairs again.

"You go left, I'll go right," Sandra instructed. "We'll sweep both ways, then destroy the generators and stuff."

"Good," Vulpes agreed.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, Vulpes breaking left while Sandra walked right. Just when Vulpes vanished around the corner—Sandra stopped instantly, peering around and tip-toeing back to the staircase, glimpsing over her shoulder repeatedly to ensure he wouldn't notice. As quickly and quietly as possible, she hurried back up the stairs, approached the computer system, and inserted the Platinum Chip into it.

There was a loud thump followed by a humming noise—Sandra winced, praying Vulpes wouldn't notice. She rushed back downstairs with her shotgun raised, speed-walking down the right walkway before meeting Vulpes at the end.

"Clear," Vulpes stated.

Sandra resisted the urge to let out a sigh of relief. "Good. Let's do this."

Together, the two of them visited each room, opening fire and riddling all the machines with bullets—Sandra smiling the entire time, not minding the deafening noise of gunfire echoing and rattling her skull.

After all, she'd already upgraded the securitrons and awoken the army—it hardly mattered if they destroyed the generators now.

On their way back, Sandra handed her weapons off to one of the guards again before marching outside with Vulpes. They trekked under the sunlight, Sandra beaming away, feeling incredibly accomplished despite the daunting task that her friends were currently managing.

Vulpes glimpsed over at her, opening his mouth to speak, but deciding against it.

Sandra turned and narrowed her eyes. "What?"

Vulpes sighed heavily, shaking his head and remaining silent.

Sandra approached the hill, then stopped, spotting Niner, Arcade, and ED-E nearby. The three of them were loitering just outside of a metal gateway, which seemed to be isolating off a space for several Brahmin.

"Hey—I need to talk to my friends," Sandra said. "I'll meet you back in Caesar's tent in a minute, okay?"

Vulpes nodded and walked off, Sandra breaking away and approaching her companions. She waited until Vulpes was safely out of earshot before speaking.

"Did you do it?" Sandra whispered urgently.

Arcade nodded, his expression etched with severity. "Yes—we planted it right at the back of his tent, right behind his throne. I peeked inside. The explosion will definitely take him out if he's sitting in that throne when the bomb goes off."

"Yeah—and we set the timer like five minutes ago," Niner added. "Which means we need to get the fuck outta here. Like, _right_ now."

"We tried using the headset, but you didn't answer us," Arcade said.

"Yeah—Caesar sent Foxxy down there with me," Sandra replied. "I couldn't talk to you guys with him there."

"_Foxxy_?" Niner and Arcade both scoffed simultaneously.

Sandra gaped at them, making a strange face. "I don't know why I called him that. Vulpes. His name is Vulpes…"

"Vulpes means fox in Latin," Arcade told her. "So—"

"Okay, we _seriously_ need to go," Niner reminded them.

"Okay, okay. I just need to see Caesar one more time, and then we can…" Sandra murmured, trailing off and squinting into the Brahmin enclosure.

A tiny black-haired girl wearing slave rags was dragging an alarmingly gigantic sack of food toward the Brahmin feeder, struggling to lift the bag and pour all the food inside.

Without thinking, Sandra broke into a brisk stride, opening the metal gateway and entering the Brahmin area. She approached the little girl, lifted the bag for her, and poured all the food into the feeder with ease.

The little girl froze, staring up at Sandra and her companions fearfully.

"Hey—I'm not Legion," Sandra told her quickly. "I'm just a friend. Okay?"

The little girl gulped, nodding and saying nothing.

"What's your name?" Sandra asked kindly.

"M… Melody," the girl squeaked, swiping her stringy bangs aside. "I'm… I'm not supposed to talk to you. It's not allowed…"

The girl named Melody stared downward glumly, grasping her arm and frowning. Arcade bit his lip, spotting several bruises on the girl's arm. He traded grave looks with Niner, Sandra giving Melody a long, empathetic stare.

Sandra felt a sudden conflict inside; she whipped around and shoved her friends away, hiding them from earshot and whispering frantically at them.

"She might get hurt if she's right here when the explosion goes off," Sandra told them. "I didn't know there was a slave kid up here. Fuck…"

"Maybe we can buy her," Niner suggested. "If we figure out who owns her…"

"We don't have _time_ for that," Arcade gasped. "The bomb is gonna go off in about twenty minutes—and we need to be setting sail down the river when that happens."

"Well—whaddo you wanna do then, hero?" Niner griped. "You're the smart guy—be smart. Think of somethin'!"

Before Arcade could respond—Sandra ripped the duffle bag off Niner's shoulder, turning it upside-down and dumping out all of Niner's belongings.

"_Hey_!" Niner yelled.

"Shh!" Sandra hissed. "You're gonna smuggle her out. She's not wearing a slave collar, so we should be able to just kidnap her."

"What?"

"You're a drug smuggler—so I think you can be a kid smuggler."

"_What_?!"

"Just shut up and go with it."

Sandra carried the bag over to Melody, kneeling in front of her and holding the bag open before her small feet.

Melody gave her a bizarre look.

"Melody—listen," Sandra said exasperatedly. "You're gonna come with us. Get in this bag, curl up, and don't make a single movement or sound. Can you do that?"

Melody's face was stricken with fear, but nevertheless, she managed a nod. Sandra helped her to step into the bag, and Melody coiled up inside it, hugging her legs and allowing Sandra to zip the child up inside. Then, Niner carefully strapped the bag back onto his shoulder, giving his pile of belongings a farewell glance before the three of them walked out of the Brahmin enclosure.

"Jesus God almighty," Arcade sighed, shaking his head. "The amount of ridiculous things we're trying to pull off today is unparalleled…"

Sandra and her companions glimpsed around as they walked, praying that nobody would catch wind of the bomb they'd planted or the child they'd stolen. When they returned to the tent, Sandra marched inside alone, approaching Caesar and Vulpes and feeling incredibly eager to leave this place for good.

"I felt the ground shake," Caesar said. "Vulpes told me how you both destroyed everything you came across in there. Well done. _Very_ well done."

"Thank you," Sandra said with a slight bow. "Anything else?"

"Yes… as a matter of fact," Caesar replied, and if Sandra wasn't imagining it, he seemed to be speaking even slower than before. "Next on your to-do list is to kill Mr. House. How he dies, I leave up to you. Once it's done, report back to me… and we will pave the future from there."

Sandra nodded conclusively, gazing into Caesar and thinking this day would pave the future in ways he could scantly imagine.

Then, as Sandra's eyes drifted over to Vulpes, she felt a strange, painful tug in her chest. Somehow—for some unknown reason—she very much didn't like him standing there, so close by Caesar, so close to the explosion soon to come.

She couldn't know why she cared, but for whatever reason, she simply did. Sandra wore a conflicted expression when she gave Vulpes a final glance and wave, turning and leaving Caesar's tent at last.

Sandra and her friends headed back the way they originally came, crossing the drawbridge and traveling downhill quickly. They collected their belongings at the gate and followed their Legion escort into the boat, Melody remaining entirely still and silent within Niner's bag. Once the boat set sail down the river, Sandra gazed up the mountainside, feeling various emotions waging war inside her.

After a while—it happened.

Far in the distance behind them, a powerful explosion shook the atmosphere—and Sandra, Niner, and Arcade were all able to see the smoke cloud far away.

The Legionary aboard the boat gaped back at Fortification Hill in alarm, turning to Sandra as his face twisted up with rage. "What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

Just when the Legionary reached for his weapon—Niner kicked him squarely in the head, Arcade grabbing his feet and flipping him out of the boat with a large splash. The Legionary arose from the water, cursing and grabbing for the boat—so, Sandra stood, aligned her shotgun with his head, and pulled the trigger, blowing the man's skull into a mess of blood and brain matter. His body drifted lifelessly away in the water, and Sandra released a heavy cloud of breath, gazing back at the Fort as an overwhelming despair seemed to sweep over her.

Arcade took the ore and began guiding the boat across the river, toward the nearest patch of land, as they certainly didn't want to pass through Cottonwood Cove now. Niner tried to help by paddling the water with his hand, and all the while, Sandra merely stared up at the Fort, heart pounding, eyes burning.

"Sandra," Arcade said gently, observing her closely. "Why're you crying…?"

Sandra blinked, wiping her face and only just noticing the tears. "I have no idea…"

She bent down, sniffing and unzipping Niner's bag, releasing Melody from inside. The boat carried them all safely away from the Legion, and as they all stepped onto land, Sandra gave one last glance to Fortification Hill, hoping that their plan had worked despite the random heartache that seemed to be ambushing her out of the blue.

* * *

In the seconds after Sandra's departure, Vulpes straightened up, preparing to make his leave as well. He and his scouts were planning to depart for the wasteland again, and his initiate, Lupis, still had some field training to undergo.

"Vulpes," Caesar called after him.

"Yes?" Vulpes turned around.

Caesar stroked his chin thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"It's subtle… so subtle, it might not even mean anything," Caesar murmured ominously. "But… that doesn't mean it's slipped by my notice."

Vulpes stared at him. "I don't know what you mean, My Lord."

"The way you look at her," Caesar said with a faint half-smile. "It's so strange… so _very_ out of character for you, staring at someone as if you're entranced. Most people are beneath you. But the courier… you look at her as if she's something even greater than an equal. Almost as if you _know_ her."

"The girl is attractive… and her hair is bizarre," Vulpes remarked. "She warrants a stare, My Lord. But I assure you… I've never met her before."

Caesar glared into him so intensely, he might as well have been staring directly through Vulpes.

"Vulpes… you know what I do to people who fail me, or betray me," Caesar muttered icily. "Or _lie to me_."

Vulpes swallowed, showing no visible reaction. "I'm well aware, My Lord. I wouldn't dare."

"Good," Caesar said with a slow nod. "Because… you've already gotten away with disobeying me once before. You will _not_ get away with anything under my rule again. I will lash you to a cross if I ever think you're lying to me, even for a second. Do I make myself clear?"

"Of course," Vulpes agreed.

"All right. You can go," Caesar dismissed.

Vulpes gave him a nod and marched out of the tent, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding. As he stepped outside, he gazed downhill, seeing that Lupis and the rest of his scouts were standing at the drawbridge, waiting for him.

Vulpes gave them a nod and prepared to walk down—

BANG—BOOM.

He was ripped from his feet—soaring through the air as the tent and furniture inside obliterated into shreds—people shouting in alarm as Vulpes landed harshly in the center of the battle arena, rolling thrice before smashing into a pole and coming to an abrupt stop.

Suddenly, the Fort was in chaos; Lucius and Antony rushed up the hill toward the heart of the fiery explosion, some Legionaries following them while others ran away. Vulpes's head rang, riddled with shock as various parts of him screamed with pain, but he ignored it, staggering to his feet in a daze.

He blinked several times before he realized Lupis was by his side, grasping him and looking positively alarmed. Vulpes tried to fix his vision onto the destroyed tent up above, where his fellow Legionaries were swarming over the scene, surveying numerous fresh corpses and body parts—including the decimated remains of Caesar himself.

"Inperator," Lupis gasped, giving Vulpes a shake. "Are you unharmed?"

Vulpes barely heard him, staring up at the ruins of the tent in astonishment.

While the Fort submerged in panic and while the Legionaries rushed to manage the situation, Vulpes's expression hardened, and he came to all the conclusions that his allies hadn't yet reached. He took in a slow, fuming breath, gritting his teeth and turning to Lupis with a searing blue glare.

"I believe… your training… will have to be put on hold now," Vulpes hissed.

Lupis stared at him in bewilderment. "What…?"

"Because… now," Vulpes glowered, eyes burning like two blue flames. "I have a whole new task to tend to."

It wasn't long before the burly bearded Lucius entered the battle arena, approaching Vulpes and wearing a grim visage.

"Our Lord has perished," Lucius informed gravely.

"Then you… you will be in charge until Legate Lanius arrives," Vulpes replied. "Something must be done now."

"I agree," Lucius growled. "The only people who could've reached Lord Caesar so closely were the courier and her friends. Find them. Make sure they are delivered their due retribution."

"Of course," Vulpes agreed angrily.

"And Vulpes," Lucius rumbled threateningly. "Do not fail. Failure will_ not_ be tolerated."

Vulpes took in a deep, incensed breath, giving Lucius a definitive nod.

"I know."


	8. Holding Out for Retribution

Weeks passed since the assassination of Caesar.

During the time after their departure from the Fort, Sandra and her companions returned to the Strip, slowly getting Melody accustomed to her new life outside of the Legion. Sandra took the elevator up to the Lucky 38 penthouse at last, and after a long conversation with Mr. House, she and her companions were given the presidential suite as a gesture of good faith. Afterward, Sandra and her friends left the Strip, departing on their first journey to find the various factions in the Mojave wasteland—their first destination was the home of the Brotherhood of Steel.

However, unfortunately, Sandra and her friends were clueless to their whereabouts. So, for nearly two days straight, they followed numerous rumors and traveled in various areas around Sloan, looking for a supposed 'hidden valley' somewhere nearby, though they had no luck finding the place thus far.

Today, they were headed north of Sloan, despite the warnings of the construction crew in town. Melody was wearing a new blue dress Sandra had bought for her, humming delightfully as she repeatedly grabbed ED-E from the air and hugged the robot. Sandra laughed and patted the girl on the head, turning and seeing that Niner was inhaling a puff of jet while Arcade tinkered with his plasma defender.

"Where're we going today?" Melody wondered, peering up at Sandra curiously.

"Hopefully to Hidden Valley, kiddo," Sandra replied. "If we can ever find the damn place."

"It wouldn't be Hidden Valley if it wasn't _hidden_, Six," Niner snarked.

"Shut your fat gay mouth," Sandra responded.

"Hey," Arcade took back. "I resent that."

"Can we listen to the radio again?" Melody asked Sandra, flashing her innocent smile and her disarming puppy-dog stare.

"Okay," Sandra sighed and smirked, holding up her pip-boy and tuning the radio. Instantly, an old country song began to play.

"_We'll put a boot in your ass, it's the American way… and Uncle Sam, put your name at the top of his list! And the Statue of Liberty started shakin' her fist! And the eagle will fly, and it's gonna be hell—when you hear mother freedom start a'ringin' her bell! And it'll feel like the whole wide world, is rainin' down on you… brought to you courtesy, of the red white n' blue_!"

It was a song they'd all listened to more than once by now, and they began to sing along as they walked, Niner head-banging and Melody leaping up to Sandra, raising her arms. Sandra lifted her off the ground and placed the girl on her shoulders, giving her a free ride as ED-E bobbed in rhythm to the music alongside them.

For a while, they all smiled and laughed at each other whenever they messed up the lyrics. It'd been many nights since Sandra thought of the Fort or endured any flashbacks; she was farther from her problems than she ever remembered being before.

When the song was over, Sandra placed Melody on the pavement again, and Arcade observed the young girl.

"Melody… how old are you?" Arcade asked. "Do you know?"

"Twelve," Melody replied.

"_Twelve_?" Arcade uttered in disbelief.

"You can't be twelve," Niner said. "You're way too little."

"More like malnourished," Arcade grumbled. "I can't imagine they fed her worth a damn inside that hellhole…"

"Well, that's not a problem anymore," Sandra grinned, rustling Melody's hair. "She's _my_ little Legion girl now."

Melody smiled, then lowered her head, wincing and wiping her eyes. There was a bit of dust in the wind, and it seemed to be blowing from somewhere left of the street.

Sandra glanced up, realizing they had arrived just in front of Quarry Junction, a place she did well to avoid until now.

"Er… maybe we should go back," Niner muttered warily. "We ain't no closer to finding this place, anyhow…"

"Yes… and this isn't a safe place for Melody," Arcade added. "Or us, for that matter."

"Okay," Sandra sighed, checking her pip-boy's map one more time. "We'll head back to Sloan for now. But I'm gonna come back here with some stealthboys, and…"

"Six," Niner said, his tone darkening instantly. "Look."

Sandra followed Niner's eyes, seeing that he was staring down the street—where four people were emerging from behind the nearest rocks, enclosing around the street and approaching them with haste. Sandra's heart could've stopped; even in the dusty winds, she spotted the crimson-clad armor right away.

The Legionaries emerged, following their leader in stride—a man with an expression warped with fury, hands balled into fists, Caesar's displacer glove glowing a threatening blue from his right arm, his coyote headdress tenting over his searing cerulean glare.

"Vulpes," Arcade exhaled, shoving Melody behind him.

"Arcade," Sandra muttered, her eyes locking with the frumentarius. "Take Melody and run like hell. Go back to Sloan. We'll cover you and meet you there."

"But—"

"Don't argue with me, just do it. And Niner—if anything happens to me, you hightail it to Sloan, too."

Before her friends could respond, Vulpes slowed to a stop just across from her, wearing his full Legion attire minus the goggles. His displacer glove hummed from his side, his visage heavy with anger.

"What did you think, courier?" Vulpes growled in a low, eerie tone, his voice almost shaking as he took a step closer. "Did you think you'd wipe us all out and go about your merry way? Did you think you could assassinate the Son of Mars without_ retribution_?"

Niner drew his rifle, Arcade backing away and lifting Melody off the ground, ED-E beeping angrily at the newcomers. Sandra stood front and center, merely returning Vulpes's stare coldly without replying.

"Did you think… because of_ me_," Vulpes snarled through gritted teeth, inching steadily nearer. "That you'd_ get away with it_?"

"No," Sandra said honestly. "And I didn't wanna kill all of you. I didn't wanna kill _anyone_—but Caesar was a tyrant. He needed to be removed from power. If you weren't under their thumb, you'd see that—"

"Did you not _listen_ when I_ told_ you?" Vulpes snapped. "Did you not_ hear_ me when I stated _plainly_ where my loyalties lie?"

"Yeah… I listened," Sandra replied vacantly. "I just don't believe you."

Vulpes cocked his head, leering dangerously into her and flashing a small, mad smirk. "Then_ believe me now_."

His three followers advanced—one opened fire and hit Niner directly in his Kevlar vest—

"GO!" Sandra bellowed at Arcade, staggering away from the attackers and whipping out her shotgun. Arcade gave them a torn look before carrying Melody away at top speed.

Niner riddled one of the Legionaries with bullets—Sandra felt a hot bullet graze her arm terribly just before she hammered the trigger—ED-E shooting off his laser as his patriotic war melody echoed across the frantic scene.

The second Legionary fell dead to the pavement—the third lunging at Niner—

"'Ave it!" Niner yelled, he and Sandra shooting the man down in an instant.

Then—both of their guns clicked, the magazines now empty.

Vulpes remained—and he strode toward Sandra without hesitation.

Sandra scrambled away, backing toward Quarry Junction and meeting Niner's eyes. She made a sideways nod toward the road leading south, motioning for Niner to go.

Niner shook his head once, giving her a conflicted look.

Sandra swatted at him, backing deeper into the ravenous dust storm.

Vulpes stormed closer. Sandra glanced between him and the heart of Quarry Junction, a mad idea striking her—she didn't have time to reload and she couldn't handle Vulpes in hand-to-hand combat. There was only one solution—a completely insane one.

At that—Sandra whipped around and exploded into a run, sprinting directly into Quarry Junction with Vulpes hot on her tail.

"SIX!" Niner hollered after her, but Sandra vanished into the dust in no time.

Possessed with adrenaline and primed with fear, Sandra blinked several times as she ran through the dust storm, sand invading her eyes as she darted almost blindly into the junction. Vulpes bared his teeth like a predator as he barreled after her with the velocity of a freight train.

Then—Sandra let out a yell, a towering figure appearing in front of her. She snapped her eyes shut and dove between the deathclaw's legs, sliding across the sand and fumbling back to her feet.

The deathclaw released a low rumble, turning and seeing Vulpes approach next. It raised its massive claws and swung—Vulpes releasing a furious growl before launching his displacer glove into the creature's hand with all his might. The hand erupted into a sickening mess of blood and bone, the deathclaw shrieking in pain as Vulpes resumed his pace, storming past the beast and making chase farther.

Sandra ran desperately past the huge chunk of construction equipment to her left, silently praying for a miracle.

She skidded to an abrupt stop—yet another figure appearing farther into the storm, this one twice the size of the first, petrifying in stature and dark in its presence. The mother deathclaw slowly spread its arms, its wicked claws craning out extensively, a low, monstrous rumble echoing from the beast as it set its soulless white eyes onto Sandra.

Sandra stood petrified with shock, gaping at the monster in utter astonishment.

Before she could think—something rammed into her full force, slamming her to the ground and knocking half the wind out of her. She blinked and winced, now lying on her back—Vulpes mounting her, holding her down and raising his fist, his expression twisted with a painful sort of rage.

"_Why couldn't you just_…!" Vulpes glowered.

"Don't… _there's a_…!" Sandra choked in horror, trying to speak and gesture behind her head, but she couldn't.

A horrendous roar shook the atmosphere—and the monstrous black claws smashed into Vulpes, lifting him off Sandra and sending him flying through the air. Vulpes collided with a boulder, rolling down to the sand with his armor now in shreds, the monstrous mother deathclaw thumping toward him—Sandra scuttling backward as the beast stomped past her, narrowly missing her leg.

Gulping frantically, Sandra yanked her back off and groped around inside it hurriedly—pulling out her spare rounded magazine for the combat shotgun. The mother deathclaw's scaly lips unraveled, revealing rows of long, razor-edged teeth, its arm reaching high and preparing to penetrate Vulpes fully.

Sandra stumbled to her feet and reloaded her gun, firing off a shot and blasting a chunk of scaly skin from the monster's arm. The mother deathclaw growled angrily—craning its neck and slowly turning to face her.

"Yeah… okay," Sandra breathed exasperatedly as the monster stomped closer. "Okay, big girl… c'mon. Comr'ere. I got something for ya."

As the mother deathclaw loomed closer to her, Vulpes winced and bit his lip, grasping his bleeding torso and leaning on a rock as he slowly climbed to his feet. His disoriented gaze ventured across the way, where Sandra and the mother deathclaw shared a tense standoff—and behind both of them, another black deathclaw was emerging from the dust clouds.

"For the love of Mars," Vulpes rasped, backing away and stepping on a rock, hurriedly climbing to the top of the nearest boulder despite the horrid pain shooting up and down him.

The mother deathclaw towered over Sandra—and she stood still, feeling thoroughly terrified, but waiting for the best moment to strike. As she aligned her shotgun with the deathclaw's underbelly—the deathclaw began to swing—and she opened fire once more. Bullets shot and blasted into her soft white stomach, erupting in skin chunks and red mist that splattered across Sandra's cheek as she continued to fire, the monster jerking and twitching until its legs began to give.

Sandra finally lowered her gun, stepping backward several feet as the mother deathclaw crumbled in her stance. The dark creature collapsed awkwardly in the sand before her, her sharp curved horns almost penetrating her left foot as she hit the ground, falling still.

The thumping footsteps of the alpha deathclaw approached from behind—Sandra's heart leaped into her throat. She jerked around with widening eyes—and then—

Vulpes leaped from the highest rock, cocking his fist back and unleashing a war cry as he flew downward—smashing his displacer glove into the alpha deathclaw's skull from the side. The jaw snapped—an eye shooting from its socket as the skull crunched beneath the knuckles of the glove and the blinding blue light. The deathclaw hit the ground hard, sliding in the sand with Vulpes landing roughly on the creature's side, grasping one of its massive horns and just barely managing to land on his feet.

A long, tense silence fell, both of them heaving numerous rushed breaths.

Vuleps swallowed, placing his hand to his chest again, only just realizing that most of his body was saturated in blood—as the mother deathclaw had left three huge, deep gashes across his chest and stomach, blood pouring out of him profusely.

Sandra stared at him with a stony visage, tightening her grip on her shotgun and slowly beginning to approach him.

Vulpes stepped off the alpha deathclaw's corpse, the blood loss ambushing him very suddenly, his head beginning to spin. He grasped the closest boulder, slowly sinking downward and sitting on the sand.

Sandra took a steady stride toward him, Vulpes glaring up at her dazedly, leaning crookedly on the rock and resting his head on it. His eyes seemed to lose their impassioned shine, his expression no longer lit with fury, as a deep, somber tiredness had taken over him entirely.

Sandra stopped, glaring down at him and gently pressing the hot barrel of her shotgun to his forehead, her finger hovering at the trigger.

Vulpes blinked exhaustedly, staring up at her and showing no hint of resistance or fear. He simply waited, expecting the trigger to click, to see a brilliant flash, and to experience a hard cut to black where he would cease to exist…

But Sandra merely stared at him, holding the gun to his head and seeming to be deep in thought. A million thoughts and feelings raced through her, though she understood precious little of them. Even now, after all this—after bombing the Fort, after killing Caesar, and after Vulpes targeted her—she still felt empathy for him, and she couldn't know why. However, as she stood before the wounded man who nearly died at the hands of a deathclaw, she did know one thing for certain now.

She'd experienced this very thing before.

Sandra maintained her stance, her expression hardening as a headache crept up on her. Flashes ran through her mind—images of a drearier wasteland than the Mojave, a white tower in the distance, a deathclaw attacking a man in a gray suit—and Sandra diving in to protect him. In fact, she remembered a child there, too—not Melody, another child. And she remembered hearing the_ bang-chk bang-chk_ of the combat shotgun then, back when it was wielded by her protector rather than herself.

_Her protector?_

Sandra clenched her teeth, holding the gun to Vulpes's head and feeling several sharp pains as memories continued to unwittingly return to her. More than the red ghoulish face, more than the milky blue eyes, and more than the grumpy expression of the tall, protective ghoul—right this moment, she remembered his voice the clearest. The raspy, agitated voice that she always somehow admired…

_I'm obligated to do as the contract dictates. I've been a slave before. Mistress, don't!_

Sandra gulped painfully, her expression twisted with a strange sort of anguish that appeared as if from nowhere.

Her eyes burned into Vulpes's for several seconds that seemed to be stretching for hours. Vulpes, his smooth, pale face—searing blue eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and short black hair, a man of the Legion, not a slave under contract. What was it about Vulpes Inculta that reminded her so deeply of the red-faced ghoul she once knew?

And even beyond that—why did she feel so very certain that she cared about Vulpes too much to pull the trigger? Vulpes Inculta was one of the most ruthless members of the Legion—why on earth did she care for him?

A city appeared in her mind—the dog-headed frumentarius shaking her urgently just before a wicked explosion.

Sandra blinked and shook her head once, her eyes still locked onto Vulpes. She hadn't the faintest idea of when she crossed paths with Vulpes before—but father in the past, she knew for certain that she was close to someone very much like him, someone who was treated like property, raised in a strict and brainwashing environment, and trained to be a killer without any choice in the matter. She couldn't know if showing Vulpes mercy was the right thing to do, but she did know this; she'd be a hypocrite not to.

After all—for reasons she couldn't currently remember—she knew for certain than she was just as ruthless as Vulpes. And if she deserved a second chance, then she had to show him the same courtesy. Despite her flukes and mistakes, she tried never to toss her moral compass aside, and she wouldn't start now.

At last, Sandra finally lowered the gun, releasing a massive cloud of breath and feeling as if a ten-ton weight had been lifted off her. The moment she chose not to fire, Vulpes's eyes drifted closed, the world fading black around him.

* * *

Hours after the fateful altercation, night had fallen over the Mojave wasteland—and Sandra sat inside a dark, hidden nook within Quarry Junction, a cave containing soft dirt and several deathclaw eggs, many of them broken. She sat with her back against the sloped rocky wall, her head slumped to the side, snoozing lightly, and Vulpes did the same.

Vulpes lay up against her, his back pressed to her front, his head resting at her collar. His armor and headdress were gone, his torso wrapped tightly with gauze and still smelling faintly of disinfectant, a used stimpack and an empty syringe of med-x lying just across the way from them. Sandra's arm was draped around him, and for a long while, the two of them merely slept their exhaustion away.

A soft string of music echoed from the pip-boy as they slept, a dim green light shining from it, illuminating their darkened nook of shelter with an ominous emerald glow. As Vulpes tiredly blinked himself awake, the music met his ears.

"_Down and out, we're outta luck… we're spinnin', but the needle's stuck… let's go have some fun before they put us in the ground_."

Vulpes didn't move, his stare hazy, body feeling as if it weighed a ton. His mind was a fog, a strange sensation having taken over him, simplifying his thoughts and numbing his body to the stinging pain in his torso. He'd never experienced the effects of chems before…

His head barely rolled to the side, inhaling Sandra's scent and resting against her soft body comfortably, his hand gently gliding over hers, thumb stroking along her wrist. Despite his dreary state of mind, he found himself thinking of their recent altercation… tackling her to the ground, raising his displacer glove…

Would he have gone through with it?

The thought of avenging Caesar drove him for weeks, trekking dangerously close to NCR territory and following every loose lead that might take him to Courier Six.

But now, after catching up with her, seeing her face and hearing her voice again… it felt as if he'd forgotten who he was pursuing, that Courier Six was her, the crimson-haired vagabond he once knew better than anyone else in the world. All his life, he bowed to Caesar, enacted retribution, killed and crucified all those who he believed deserved it—but this girl here, Courier Six, the crimson-haired vagabond, was the only person to ever plant such irritating doubt in his mind.

After all—if she was part of the profligate world, then how wicked could that world truly be?

And if his Lord and master, Caesar, was the God of the Legion—then how wicked could the _Legion_ truly be?

The conflict was maddening, and Vulpes grimaced deeply, releasing a heavy sigh and closing his eyes again as he rested cozily on Sandra's collar.

Then, another thought occurred to him—the memory of Caesar's final moments, when Caesar threatened to crucify Vulpes over a simple speculation. The man he revered and worshipped as a God, the man he dedicated his life to—he thought so little of Vulpes's life, and he never spared it a second thought before now.

Meanwhile, Courier Six—even after being pursued by Vulpes—chose to spare him and save his life for no reason whatsoever. She seemed the opposite of Caesar, each of them equally relentless and passionate, but with loyalties and goals that directly opposed one another.

The Legion showed no weakness against their enemies, and up until now, he believed every ruthless action and every manipulative tactic was justified—but now, pondering on Caesar's cold attitude toward his most loyal frumentarius, he couldn't help but wonder.

Was the Legion more wicked than they were powerful? Was their cause a façade, their purpose all for naught? After all, Caesar died like any ordinary man—he seemed to be just as mortal as everyone who followed him, not a God at all—not even a loyal leader.

Still, how could Vulpes indulge in such a thought? How could he consider that the world beyond the Legion was worth anything—especially after all the crooked people he encountered in Nipton? The courier and her friends weren't the same as the whores of Nipton—but that confused him even more. How could the profligate world function with all the good people mixed in with the bad? Who in their world could ever see the line between right and wrong? The mere thought of it was mind-boggling.

Yet, somehow, Sandra seemed to function in the world beyond the Legion. Regardless of her broken mind and numerous conflicts—she seemed to have some solid goal, some moral compass that kept her grounded without the need of any greater belief to guide her.

Vulpes blinked tiredly again, glimpsing upward and eyeing her.

How could it be? How could anyone find purpose in the world without any big, grand ideals to place their faith in? From the moment he met her—even back then, when her mind was shattered completely and her motives were a great big question mark, she still acted on whatever was necessary in the moment—eliminating every threat and taking every step needed to ensure both of their survival.

How tiring it must've been, always carrying on, clawing and fighting with no reassurance, no God, no great beacon of hope to carry you through the worst hardships of the wasteland. There must've been something she believed in, but it was no God, no Son of Mars, no blind faith at all—no, she seemed to believe in ideas of her own, grand possibilities that she wanted to flourish. But what those were, he couldn't know.

Still, there was something to the world outside of the Legion—and for the first time, he finally considered this possibility in full. Perhaps he always knew, on some level. He wouldn't have spared her of her fate four years ago otherwise.

Vulpes stewed in his thoughts silently, pondering on everyone he knew within the Legion and feeling incredibly hesitant to act on the impulses rising up inside him now. Lupis, the children in training, what remained of his scouting party—his superiors were cold, but his equals were like family. How could he ever consider leaving his entire life behind? What would become of them if he did? Perhaps it simply wasn't an option for him. It never had been, after all…

Sandra cleared her throat, moving and releasing a yawn. She rested her chin on the top of his head, blinking herself half-awake and coiling her fingers gingerly around his arm.

Vulpes stared down at her hand, sighing heavily.

Sandra gently stroked him, feeling the most bizarre sense of complacency of her life. He could've been a perfect stranger to her, and a particularly dangerous one at that—yet still, for whatever reason, it felt perfectly right to sit in this crooked embrace, holding him and resting solemnly as she did. And as of now, she was much too tired to question it any more.

"I don't know why," Sandra said softly. "But I know… there's more to you than the person the Legion made you."

Vulpes said nothing, gazing into the darkness thoughtfully.

"I really don't know why," Sandra reiterated. "I don't know, and I don't remember… but I swear to God, I_ feel_ it. There's something about you that's more than just a cold Legion spy."

"Something basic," Vulpes uttered in a faint rasp. "And intimate… and… survivalistic."

Sandra gulped and nodded.

"That's because you and I kept each other alive for a long while… back then," Vulpes sighed. "Under hellish circumstances, lost a long way from the Mojave… you and I… simply stuck together to survive. And that's the only reason we _did_."

Sandra gazed down at him profoundly, pondering on his statement. It explained a lot; if she crossed paths with him on her way to Nevada—and if they truly did keep one another alive under some harsh circumstances—then it explained why she felt any sort of empathy for him, and such a powerful instinct to look after him now.

"What happened?" Sandra asked solemnly. "What happened to me and you…?"

Vulpes was silent for nearly a full minute, dwelling on the past and not daring to revisit it aloud.

"I have a more immediate question for you," he uttered grimly. "Why kill the Son of Mars inside his own domicile?"

Sandra sighed, resting her head back and gazing up at the top of the cave.

"I doubt if you're gonna understand," she mumbled. "Seeing as how you're brainwashed…"

"Try me," Vulpes said.

Sandra paused, bit her lip, and assessed her thoughts before speaking on.

"From the outside… the Legion isn't a saving grace or a holy hand of justice," Sandra explained. "Everyone else pretty much sees the Legion as a death sentence. You said the people in Nipton deserved it because they were all a bunch of crooks and backstabbers… but here's the problem. Even people who don't deserve it end up suffering under the Legion. Men are beaten into being cannon fodder and women are chained up as slaves. But outside the Legion… those of us who aren't just criminals… we manage to get by and do the right thing without all the torture and slavery. We still get tough, and we're still not weak—but we're not brainwashing, or torturing, or enslaving everyone in the process. That's why the Legion needs to be… removed from power. We value our way of life, too—and we're gonna fight for it just like you would."

There was a long pause after her explanation.

Vulpes mulled over her words for a moment.

"Then tell me this," he said seconds later. "What idea do you believe in? What is the one pure, solid thing you fight for if not for your God?"

Sandra cocked her head, a sharp pain shooting through her skull. At first, she thought of the water purifier—but then, her plans of securing an independent Vegas came to mind.

"At first… it was Project Purity," she murmured distantly. "A big water purifier that was gonna clean all the water and save everyone…"

Vulpes made an odd face, glimpsing up at her. "Water in Nevada isn't irradiated…"

"But now," Sandra continued. "Now, it's… making an independent Vegas, and hopefully changing a lot of the screwed-up things going on in the Mojave."

"You believe in no God," Vulpes mumbled. "You believe in only goals."

"Oh, hell… I don't know. There might be a God," Sandra shrugged. "In fact, I've… heard of him before…"

Vulpes stared up at her strangely again.

Sandra gazed into the darkness, her stare as distant as it was unreadable.

"Revelation 21:6," Sandra breathed mindlessly. "I am alpha, and omega… the beginning, and the end… something about thirst…"

"You must have a whole other life somewhere," Vulpes muttered. "I don't understand half the things you say…"

They both fell silent for a few seconds.

Vulpes glimpsed over, eyeing the combat shotgun lying beside them.

"So," he uttered. "I suppose you've forgotten your imaginary friend, too."

Sandra blinked, making an odd face and staring down at him. "What…?"

"That person… you believed was following you," Vulpes mumbled. "You acted as if you were traveling with someone… even though you weren't."

Sandra was quiet for a moment. "I really have no idea. I don't remember… anything…"

Vulpes said nothing, glaring over at the combat shotgun and reading the inscription on the side. Wincing and repressing a groan, he moved and reached over, grasping the gun and lifting it upright, leveling it with Sandra's eyes.

"Look at this, and tell me," he insisted. "Where did this _come_ from? All these years and all this time, all the travels and all the fights—and you_ still_ carry this gun around."

Sandra gazed into the firearm, her heart giving a pained jolt. As her eyes skimmed over the inscribed name, they began to water, hot tears stinging her and clouding her vision. Instantly, she shook her head and wiped the tears away.

"Fuck, I don't…" she muttered. "I don't know why I'm…"

"You still look after this gun—and you even look after me," Vulpes stated. "You _do_ remember. You remember everything. You simply don't _know_ you do."

"I don't _want_ to," Sandra whimpered without thinking.

"Exactly—that's why you don't remember what you know," Vulpes said flatly. "But you _do_ know it. Otherwise you wouldn't act the way you do—you wouldn't be here with me now. You'd be standing over my body after a fair kill—not hunched in a cave acting like I'm something worth saving."

"Don't say that," Sandra said sadly. "You sound like Charon…"

At once, a sharper pain penetrated her skull—and Vulpes's eyes flickered up to her, staring into her intently.

Suddenly, numerous things clicked together in her mind all at once—the images of the Capital, the red-faced ghoul, and the horrific sense of funereal bereavement that weighed on her before leaving the Capital wasteland forever. She couldn't know why, couldn't remember any details—but somehow, she knew most assuredly that Charon was someone she loved, someone she empathized with, and someone she lost in battle the last time she tried to make a difference in the world around her.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as the awful feeling made its return, and she found herself thinking of the here and now—of Niner, Arcade, Melody and ED-E—and the close call they all encountered just a few short hours ago. A striking fear rose up inside her, and at once, she knew for sure that she'd face this unbearable feeling again in the future if things continued to run their course this way—if she tried too hard to make a difference, endangered her friends in the process, and unwittingly orchestrated their demise. Perhaps she herself would be the one to die this time, or perhaps she'd be standing at another funeral, crying for another dead loved one…

Maybe her new goal and purpose wasn't worth pursing—not if it was bound to end up the same way it had last time.

And, more than anything, she felt certain that it was destined to turn out that way—because the last time she leaped into a war, she nearly died and faced heavy losses that she wasn't prepared for. This time, it would be a new war—the battle for Hoover Dam—but the concept remained the same, and it would likely yield the same terrible result.

War never changes, after all.

"I'm doing the same thing," Sandra realized dreadfully. "I'm doing the same damn thing I did last time… that got everybody killed…"

Vulpes lowered the gun, still staring up at her and reading over her distraught expression.

"We need to get out," Sandra uttered, glancing down and meeting his eyes. "We all just need to get out of this while we can…"

"Sandra," Vulpes said seriously. "I've learned one valuable thing from the Legion. If the cause is worth everything—then it is, quite literally, worth_ everything_. Including_ risk_."

"Oh… what the hell're you even _saying_?" Sandra griped. "You sound like you're trying to talk me into working directly against the Legion."

"I just didn't think you were the type to walk away," Vulpes replied calmly. "My goals have always rested with ideals of justice and retribution… but _your_ goals… yours have no glossy film, no blinding faith draped over them. Yours are actually _attainable_."

Sandra stared at him, wiping her eye. "Now you sound like you're doubting…"

"I'm just… _seeing_," Vulpes conceded. "What I see now is… My Lord is dead… died like a mortal rather than living like a God. What I see now is a broken Legion… and a default emperor who would sooner crucify me than let you walk free. What I see now is a whol_e tribe_ of Legionaries doubting their very existence because their Lord and master has perished. And that… the recognition of a false faith… that is a hindrance you have _no_ weakness to."

Sandra let out a deep sigh, adjusting and wrapping an arm around him again, thinking intently on his every word.

"I think I need to take a walk away from all this," she murmured. "Clear my head and think about it. I just… jumped into all this… so fast…"

Vulpes didn't reply, his hand resting firmly around her wrist as he glared into the darkness.

"But… y'know what I want," Sandra said softly. "I wish we could just… all of us could just… meet up in Vegas, and live large, and be okay. I wish, for once… everything could just be okay for a while…"

Vulpes sighed. "Wildly optimistic…"

"Hey," Sandra uttered, gently tapping his stomach. "Whatever you choose to do… if you walk away from the Legion, just come find me in Vegas, and we'll figure it out from there."

Vulpes glimpsed up at her. "Again, _wildly_ optimistic."

Sandra let out a laugh. "I think it would work out fine, Foxxy."

Vulpes blinked, eyeing her closely. "What did you call me?"

Sandra paused, and before she could reply, a nearby sound caught her attention.

She and Vulpes glimpsed over, seeing that one of the deathclaw eggs was now jiggling and twitching on the ground, making several scraping and crackling sounds.

"For Mars' sake," Vulpes groaned. "Can't catch a single break today…"

A shard broke off the egg's shell, and a small, squishy hand oozed out of it. Seconds later, the egg crumbled apart, and a tiny, slimy lizard creature crawled into view, blinking its shiny white eyes and peering up at the two of them.

Vulpes gaped at the creature wordlessly.

Sandra did the same—and then, she revealed a beaming, childlike smile.

"Oh my God," she breathed. "It's so _cuuute_!"

Vulpes stared incredibly at her, utterly baffled.

Sandra extended her free arm, motioning for the newborn deathclaw to come closer. "Come'ere. "Come'ere, little squishy, come'ere…!"

"Don't _do_ that," Vulpes scolded, lowering her hand. "The last thing we need is more attention from these monsters."

"But he's a _baby_!" Sandra exclaimed. "Aww! Look—the egg shell scratched his little tummy. Poor baby! Come'ere!"

"_Stop it_," Vulpes hissed.

Sandra reached out and patted the baby deathclaw on the head. The creature made an odd squeaking noise, seeming to enjoy the attention.

Vulpes let out a groaning sigh, running a hand down his face.

Sandra gleefully petted the deathclaw for a few minutes before her attention shifted back to Vulpes. She took on a somber expression.

"You've done some really fucked-up things," she remarked.

Vulpes narrowed his eyes up at her oddly.

Sandra sighed. "So, tell me something… why do I feel so sure that you're a good person?"

"No idea," Vulpes replied dismissively. "Probably because I kept you alive for so long."

"Why'd you do that?"

"Because I did."

"No, seriously, why?"

"I'm not telling the whole story right now…"

"Why not?"

"I'm tired…"

Sandra nodded silently. As she fell quiet, Vulpes began to relax in her grasp, his eyes drifting shut once more.

Strangely—for the first time in four years—his sleep was entirely peaceful and undisturbed.

When he eventually blinked himself awake, he found that he was now lying alone in the cave, no Sandra, no baby deathclaw. Sunlight bled into the rounded enclosure, and just beside Vulpes's head, a blue container sat, filled with water and sweating from condensation.

Pushing himself upright, he collected the vault 13 canteen, gazing vacantly into it for a moment before painfully reaching his feet. He wandered out of Quarry Junction by his lonesome—and for the first time ever, he hadn't the faintest clue of where he was headed now.


	9. Back on Track

_From the author,_  
_My health problems have been resurfacing, but I'm still working on this story, as well as my original works & comics. Expect more updates to come, and thanks for your patience! PS- if you'd like to see my other work, find XxKonspiracyxX on webtoon or pop over to xxginger . wixxite konspiracy and read more of my works for free, including some awesome slasher content, another apocalyptic story, and a crime thriller! Now, let's get back to our courier's life after such a long vacation away. Ring-a-ding-ding!_

* * *

A month and a half after the fight in Quarry Junction, Sandra finally made her return.

During the time after their battle, Arcade, Niner, Melody, and ED-E waited patiently in Sloan for Sandra to arrive—and after two and a half days, they decided to fan out and search for her. When they found no sign of her, they reluctantly resolved to return to the Lucky 38, hoping she would return sometime soon.

Meanwhile—as Sarah and Bryan worked alongside Veronica, marching out of Hidden Valley regularly and acting on Elder McNamara's orders—and while Mr. Burke comfortably enjoyed his new job as Swank's manager in the Tops Casino—Vulpes spent his time wandering the Mojave.

As days passed, Vulpes visited various profligate locations, trading his Legion coins for the local currency of bottle caps and simply observing the profligates in their day to day lives. The longer he wandered by himself, the more certain he became that he couldn't return to the Legion—and not just because of his doubts. He'd been gone from the Legion for a long while now, and if he returned to the Fort, he'd have to explain his absence to Lucius. Vulpes had no explanation for his sudden disappearance—which meant he'd likely be severely punished if he returned now. That wasn't a fate he would go looking for.

So, during this long lull in excitement across the Mojave—when every radio station broadcasted frequently about the death of Caesar and the rumors of Legate Lanius traveling west—Arcade spent much of his time in the penthouse of the Lucky 38, speaking to Mr. House on Sandra's behalf. Beyond that, he wasn't sure what to do next, and he was hesitant to act without her present.

Unbeknown to them all, Sandra spent the past month and a half soul-searching, meeting new faces beyond the Mojave, and learning more than she ever thought possible. The day she marched back into the Mojave desert, she felt stronger than before—empowered, rushed with the same passion that overtook her the moment she decided to assassinate Caesar. That passion seemed to have abandoned her in Quarry Junction—but now, it was back with a vengeance, and Sandra strolled coolly across the sand, tortoise shell sunglasses sparkling against the sun, Joshua Graham's silver 45 holstered at her hip, and a sleeveless duster decorated with the 21 spade symbol hanging off her body, shifting in the dusty breeze as she strode across her homeland once more.

Images of all the bizarre places she visited were still fresh on her mind—the peculiar robots in Big Mountain, the dreary and almost haunted atmosphere of the Sierra Madre, the beautiful scenery of Zion in Utah, and—of course—the devastated Divide, a fallout-riddled crevice she walked until meeting the other Courier Six. She had no clue why she felt the need to wander off alone for so long, but she knew that it was somehow necessary—because now, after all she'd been through in the past six-or-so weeks, she felt reassured that she could take on her original task of securing an independent Vegas without a doubt.

Perhaps she simply needed to find that resolve again.

Sandra smirked, glimpsing over at her companion and smiling confidently.

The baby deathclaw had grown up to her knees now, his little horns beginning to expand, his scaly skin starting to darken just the slightest bit. The creature peered up at her, and she nodded, pulling a roasted squirrel from her duster pocket and tossing it to him. He caught it midair and chomped on it loudly.

"C'mon, Scar," Sandra said, heading off toward New Vegas. "Time to go home."

Scar the deathclaw gnawed and made a barking noise as he hit all fours and scurried after her.

Sandra grinned again as the brilliant sight of Vegas stood before her. It felt as if she'd been gone for years, and her friends were likely cross with her by now—but it hardly mattered. She got everything she needed, and by now, the Legion assassins should've given up on tracking her and her friends. Things had aligned just right for her to move forward now—it was time to get back on track.

The music on the Strip was blaring a classical rock ambiance when she strolled in through the gates, the neon lights dancing about welcomingly against the early evening sky.

"_Ooo-oh, we're halfway the-ere! Ooo, oh! Livin' on a pra-ayer_!"

"Partner!" Victor exclaimed, rolling up to her. "Ain't you a sight for sore eyes! Where've you been? The boss man's been worried!"

"Yeah right," Sandra scoffed with a laugh. "He just needs me because he can't walk. I'm his courier for bitch work."

"Heh. I like you, friend. Have I mentioned that?" Victor replied, his cartoony cowboy face now smiling. "You might wanna head upstairs and talk to the boss man. Let 'im know you're still kickin' out here."

"I will. My friends are here, right?"

"Ye'ap. They've been runnin' things for you while you been gone, partner."

"Good. I figured. Seeya around, Victor."

"Later, partner."

Sandra began to walk past him, then slowed to a stop and faced him again.

"One more thing," she said. "Nobody else has come around asking for me, have they?"

"Like who?" Victor asked.

"I don't know, like… a guy in a suit, short black hair, blue eyes," Sandra suggested. "Anyone like that come around?"

"Can't say they have, partner," Victor replied. "We got a visit from an NCR messenger, deliverin' a letter from Ambassador Crocker… but that's all."

"Okay," Sandra nodded, turning on her heel and marching up the flashing elegant walkway of the Lucky 38.

Once she was inside, she took the elevator straight to the penthouse. She knew there was a longwinded reunion around the corner, and she was looking forward to seeing her friends again—but first, there was something she needed to take care of, a power-grab she'd spent the past month-and-a-half running away from.

It was time.

Sandra adjusted her stylish reflective sunglasses and sauntered out of the elevator, venturing down the rounded stairway and strolling right past the gigantic screen displaying Mr. House. She ignored his attempts to grasp her attention, approaching the terminal on the far side of the room and tinkering with it for a moment.

After unlocking the sealed-off room, Mr. House shouted at her, his voice trembling from the speakers as the nearest securitron rounded on her.

Sandra pulled the silvery new 45 from her side and popped off a couple rounds, making the robot jerk and flail before hitting the ground hard. She meandered into the isolated room, approaching the hidden elevator inside and not minding the wailing alarm system that was now echoing throughout the entire building.

The alarm passed by nobody's notice; inside the presidential suite, Melody perked up, hugging her teddy bear as she sat cross-legged in front of the TV. Arcade and Niner both froze inside the kitchen, abandoning their dinner and eyeing one another urgently. ED-E twittered from the hallway, tapping its metal shell on the elevator and frantically trying to leave the suite.

Arcade and Niner joined ED-E in the hall, stepping into the elevator and riding up to the penthouse with haste.

"N-now hold on," Mr. House's voice echoed from behind her as she walked. "We can work something out, here…"

Sandra shot the securitrons in the off-limits room swiftly, strolling past and marching into the elevator to the control room. Once she reached the darkened area, she ventured down the catwalk, punching into the computer briefly before Mr. House's cryogenic pod began to open.

Arcade, Niner, and ED-E entered the penthouse and overlooked the aftermath, broken securitrons strewn about and the off-limits area open across the room. Arcade broke into a run and entered the elevator with Niner and ED-E following hastily.

In the control room, Sandra stood before the machine, gazing into the wrinkled, two-hundred-something-year-old body of Mr. House, sputtering and gaping at her in horrified awe.

"Why… have you… done this?" Mr. House rasped. "So much work… undone…"

"Sorry," Sandra replied emotionlessly, tightening her grasp on the shotgun. "It's just necessary. I need to be in control to make our plan work out. Now, tell me… do you wanna live, or should I just kill you?"

Mr. House didn't indulge her with an answer.

Sandra nodded, raised her gun, and opened fire just when Arcade and the others entered the room across the catwalk.

BANG.

Mr. House's old skull erupted in blood and bone, and Arcade drew his plasma defender, approaching her from behind.

"_Hey_!" Arcade hollered.

Sandra took a deep, conclusive breath, turning to her friends and lowering her firearm.

Once Arcade spotted her face, he let out a sigh of relief and holstered his own weapon. A brief silence fell over them all, her companions eyeing the now dead Mr. House for a moment.

Then, Arcade marched forward and surveyed Sandra intently.

Sandra sighed. "Well… I'm home."

"Right. I can see that," Arcade replied, sparing a glimpse at the wrinkled corpse. "Hell of a welcome-home party you just started here."

"Six—where've you _been_?" Niner demanded, shooting her a look. "You just up and disappeared outta nowhere. Hell—we thought the deathclaws ate your ass alive. Melody cried for like a week straight."

ED-E let out an agitated twitter in agreement.

Scar the deathclaw slowly emerged from behind Sandra's leg, peering up at ED-E strangely. Arcade and Niner gave the young deathclaw a series of wild stares before turning their attention back to Sandra.

"Let's go," Sandra mumbled, nodding at the exit. "We have a lot to talk about."

In the following hours to pass—while the securitrons up and down the strip printed off the preplanned obituary of the now deceased Mr. House—Sandra sat in the presidential suite, she and her friends all seated around the elongated kitchen table. Sandra told her friends the entire story of her endeavors during her absence. Melody was delighted to see her again, nestling on Sandra's lap and embracing her during the entire conversation. Once Sandra was done updating her companions on the situation, there was a pause, and they all exchanged thoughtful visages.

"Well… I'm not gonna lie," Arcade eventually spoke up, adjusting his glasses. "I'm rather surprised you managed to survive all that—especially the Divide."

"Nah… the Sierra Madre was _way_ worse," Sandra chuckled, patting Melody on the head. "But it doesn't matter. Everything's back on track now."

"You coulda_ told_ us," Niner griped irritably. "You just disappeared without saying anything."

"I know… sorry," Sandra muttered. "After that whole thing with Foxxy, I just… needed to take a walk and clear my head…"

"And speaking of Fox… of Vulpes," Arcade said, his eyes narrowing at Sandra. "What do you expect to happen with him now?"

"No idea," Sandra replied honestly. "I gave him a choice, and he'll choose whatever he wants. He might go back to the Legion, or he might help us out later down the road. Just depends on what he wants, I guess."

"He _attacked_ us," Arcade reminded her. "Do you _really_ think he's gonna have a miraculous change of heart?"

"I don't know… but I _do_ know he wasn't in his right mind when he showed up at Quarry Junction," Sandra informed. "He was shook up and pissed off. He probably needed to clear his head just as much as I did."

"So… basically… there's no telling if he's gonna be our enemy or not," Niner surmised.

"Yeah, but I had to give him a shot," Sandra shrugged, combing Melody's hairs back. "Felt like the right thing to do."

"M'kay," Niner mumbled uncertainly. "So, ah… what now?"

"We get started for real," Sandra smirked with an excited twinkle in her eye. "We've gotta get acquainted with every faction in the Mojave… and we might as well start right here and now."

* * *

The abandoned campsite bordering the NCR camp south of Novac sat empty and desolate now—except for the lone frumentarius hunched cross-legged at the campfire.

It was the very same campsite used months ago after the burning of Nipton and the transportation of new slaved from the profligate town, the same place where Vulpes and Lupis did much of Lupis's initiation training. Though now, no crimson-clad warriors sat around the fire telling war stories, feeding their dogs scraps and offering Lupis advice for success. Now, only Vulpes sat here, looking like an entirely different person compared to his last visit to the campsite—no coyote headdress, no armor, no magnificent melee weapons and no proud bloodstains nor herd of captives in his wake. He sat alone in his suit and fedora, pounding down materials against a rock until a fresh supply of healing powder sat readily atop the stone.

His deathclaw wounds were no longer sore, and he wore his clothes from a stash just outside of Sloan, which he'd scavenged over a month ago. During all this time, he'd simply been wandering—observing profligate lifestyles and pondering on what drastic changes must've been overtaking the Legion right now. He knew for certain he'd be punished if he returned to them now, after all this time missing in action—and with nowhere else to go, he merely sat contemplating on whatever might come next and mulling over the past as well. He wondered what ever came of Lupis's training, and if Lucius was still in power—as Lucius was next in line for the throne until the arrival of Legate Lanius. From all the gossip he'd heard from profligates passersby, he knew the Legion was still presenting itself as a threat to the trading routes of the caravans and NCR soldiers—which meant that the Legion had all but fallen. The king had perished, but the clan still remained, and God only knew what might unfold now.

Vulpes sighed and blinked, glancing up and eyeing the corner of the nearest mountainside.

For a brief second, he could've sworn he'd seen a glimmer of light. After nearly a full minute of glaring, Vulpes turned away from the mountainside, collected his satchel bag, and marched out of the campsite, deciding it best to head for Novac.

As he marched up the railroad, his pensive eyes narrowed at the mountains in passing, his heart thumping anxiously, almost as if the mountains were staring back at him somehow.

Vulpes grimaced, leering up at the mountains and gritting his teeth. He'd trained numerous scouts and frumentarii in the art of tracking, and he knew all their tricks—as he'd invented many of them himself. Now, he couldn't help but feel as if his lessons were working against him. But, then again, he'd been alone for nearly two months, and he hadn't seen hide nor hair of any Legionaries. Perhaps he was simply being paranoid. He'd been alone for longer than he ever had before, after all…

Vulpes marched into Novac with a brisk stride, stopping off and trading many of the healing powders he'd made for a quick meal at the Dino shop. Afterward, he stopped in the road, considering sleeping in town and then deciding against it. If someone _was _following him, they knew the routes of Novac already—as the Legion had at least one exchange here before—and they'd likely attack him in his sleep, just as he'd trained them to do whenever the opportunity arose.

So, Vulpes took a swig of water from his vault 13 canteen, stuffed it in his bag, and marched on, strolling past the dinosaur and heading toward the open desert. He wasn't sure where to go—but he knew for certain he couldn't stay still.

Then, on the twilight horizon, his eyes fixated on the tower in the distance.

After walking off the road, Vulpes slowed to a stop in the middle of the desert, gazing into Vegas afar and suddenly remembering the offer he'd gotten from the courier.

Quite honestly, he hadn't really considered it before; it seemed a ridiculous idea at first. But now, after spending so much time away from the Legion—and practically making himself into an enemy of theirs in desertion—maybe it wasn't a far-fetched idea anymore. For the first time, his loyalties didn't seem to dictate his movements—only his logic. And now, logic told him there was only one safe place to go.

Vulpes let out a deep sigh, rolling his neck and preparing to march on.

He then stopped—freezing on the spot and inhaling sharply, his instincts suddenly kicking into high gear.

Vulpes glanced around, surrounded by a large boulder and a collection of cacti—and from behind them, the crimson-clad soldiers emerged.

Five Legionaries slowly strode into view, encircling around him and brandishing a collection of shiny melee weapons—and to Vulpes's surprise, a familiar figure approached from the head of the pack, flashing a coyote headdress and a long, glistening machete gladius.

Lupis glared into Vulpes with a vacant visage, Vulpes returning his cold stare in full.

And in the near distance—far above the scene, from the mouth of the dinosaur—a man named Craig Boone was sitting in his lawn chair during the first hour of his shift, squinting downward and lifting his sunglasses, as he spotted a hint of movement in the desert, though he couldn't quite believe his eyes. He frowned, raised his sniper rifle, and stared down his scope to get a better look—and sure enough, there stood five Legionaries surrounding a stranger in a sleek black suit.

Lupis cocked his head, cracking his neck and taking a brave step forward.

Vulpes shot him a severe look. "Don't even try, boy."

"Don't you _dare_ talk to me," Lupis spat in a toxic voice that hardly sounded like his own. "Filthy… treacherous… _deserter_."

Lupis's four followers nodded in agreement, Vulpes grimacing as he read every inch of Lupis's serious expression, seeing no hint of the boy he once knew. His heart sank, and he felt an icy realization begin to sweep over him—he'd never seen it from the outside before. But now, it was undeniable; the beliefs of the Legion and the faith of Mars was the only thing that dictated the Legion's every move, not the loyalty that bound friends and allies together.

The courier called it _brainwashing_—and at the time, Vulpes didn't understand it at all.

But now—gazing into Lupis's hateful visage—he understood it more clearly than he ever could have before.

"You, the once great Vulpes Inculta… stand before me in the garments of the_ profligates_," Lupis snarled, slowly raising his war-worn machete. "You_ failed_ to eliminate the wicked soul who killed Lord Caesar… and you assimilated into _this_… this _revolting culture_. How _could_ you?"

Vulpes stared emptily at him. "How could you possibly know the courier survived?"

"She _was_ seen, Vulpes," Lupis growled. "She was spotted returning to the Mojave from the decimated grounds of the _other_ disgraced frumentarius—the home of the once great Ulysses. It seems she's taken a liking to you disgusting deserters."

"Lupis," Vulpes uttered warningly. "Don't think for _one_ moment that you're capable of challenging me—regardless of however many little toy soldiers you drag along at your disposal."

One of the Legionaries jutted his arm outright, holding a sword dangerously close to Vulpes.

"Watch your tongue," the man fumed.

Vulpes smirked at him, releasing a few breathless laughs. "Oh, that is _precious_…"

As the standoff intensified—Boone continued to watch from above, his expression hardening and his heart pounding with anger. He fixed his crosshairs onto the largest Legionary, the one holding a sword outright.

"You did this," Lupis rumbled, daring to draw nearer. "_You_ did this, Vulpes. Remember that during your final moment, when you're fading from this_ life_."

Vulpes let out a mad, cackling laugh, spreading his arms and nodding at him. "Go ahead then, boy—_I'm right here_."

It happened—Lupis lunged forward and the large Legionary began to swing his sword—

BANG.

A gunshot echoed across the desert—the large Legionary's head erupting in a horrid mass of blood and brain matter. Vulpes didn't notice; he and Lupis were locked in war, Lupis slashing at him while Vulpes doubled back and whipped out the machete gladius tucked in the back of his suit—their blades shot sparks as they fought ruthlessly, the remaining three Legionaries advancing on their target.

Boone pulled the lever back and fired off another shot—killing a second Legionary instantly.

Vulpes slashed Lupis's thigh open, making him stagger back—and just then, another Legionary tackled Vulpes to the ground, raising his blade and preparing to strike—

BANG.

Boone fired again—and the Legionary fumbled awkwardly to the side, falling off of Vulpes and crumbling to the ground.

Vulpes took in a sharp breath, suddenly shocked, but he quickly shook it off—rolling over and springing to his feet. The last Legion follower barreled at him alongside Lupis—Vulpes's adrenaline pumping as a blade met his arm—

BANG.

Lupis's final follower fell dead to the dirt—and Vulpes and Lupis fought alone beneath the darkening Nevada sky, hearts thrashing and faces twisted up in rage.

Lupis hoisted Vulpes's collar and smashed him backward—slamming his head into the boulder and making his vision explode into stars. Vulpes's focus abandoned him—his hand moving on its own—reaching out with one final thrust.

"_Agh_…"

Lupis suddenly froze board stiff, his mouth falling open as he slowly looked downward, Vulpes's machete penetrating his stomach so deeply, the blade was no longer visible.

Vulpes released a faint, hissing chuckle, yanking his blade out with a sick suctioning noise. A splatter of blood followed, staining the side of the boulder as Lupis's stomach poured blood profusely. The young frumentarius fell to his knees, glaring up at Vulpes with a bizarre mixture of hate and regret, hot tears streaming down his face just before he slumped forward, hitting the ground face-first and falling entirely still.

For seconds that seemed to last for hours, Vulpes stood leaning against the rock, pained and bleeding from several places, catching his breath and glaring down at the dead boy lying at his feet.

"Fool," Vulpes exhaled, wiping his bloodied lip, his pulsating head beginning to spin.

His arm had been cut in one place and mildly stabbed in another, the sleeve of his suit now thick and heavy with crimson stains. He panted for a moment, glancing around at the bodies and wondering where the shooter was, though his thoughts began to trail off once the blood loss began to take its toll.

Boone lowered his rifle, narrowing his eyes downward and thinking the suited stranger must've been injured. Sighing, he strapped his rifle on, adjusted his beret, and marched out of his sniper's nest, strolling down the stairs and leaving the Dino-De-Lite shop.

By the time Boone found himself walking across the darkened desert, Vulpes Inculta lay unconscious beside the bloody boulder, numerous Legion corpses strewn about all around him. Boone paused briefly to survey the scene, then sank to one knee, leaning over Vulpes and giving him a light smack.

"Hey," Boone grunted loudly, slapping his face back and forth. "Hey, buddy—wake up."

Vulpes made a faint groaning noise, trying to gaze up at the shadowy stranger, though his eyes wouldn't cooperate.

"Oh, hell…" Boone grumbled, spotting the blood-soaked sleeve.

After peeling off his shirt and using it to tie off the wounds, Boone found himself marching off with the unconscious Vulpes slumped over his shoulder.

* * *

"Ring-a-ding, baby—_that's_ what I'm talkin' about!"

Swank grinned as he stood behind the front counter of the Tops, reading off all the new business cards and giving Mr. Burke an approving nod.

"I presume I've done well?" Mr. Burke smirked.

"Hell _yeah_, you have," Swank agreed. "We're gonna be raking in caps before the week's over with all the new entertainment you brought us. I swear, man—Benny _never _tried this hard to keep the business afloat. He seemed like he was always out for number one. But _you_, you're a _company_ man. Best damn manager we've ever had."

"Oh, well… I try," Mr. Burke replied.

"You_ succeed_, my man," Swank praised. "In fact, I think you earned yourself a promotion. How'd you like to be co-owner of the Tops Hotel & Casino?"

Mr. Burke blinked behind his sunglasses. "Are you certain?"

"Of fuckin'_ course_ I'm certain—Mr. House just _died_ today, and without him around, I'm gonna need all the leadership and management I can get here," Swank explained. "Not to mention, when you go to discuss business with the Omertas, I know they're gonna take you more seriously if you're on rank with Benny. You're not just a manager—you gotta be the new _boss man_, you dig?"

"Absolutely," Mr. Burke agreed, feeling a spark of excitement at the idea. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_," Swank said, slapping him on the shoulder. "Oh, one more thing—you got some mail today. Came from a caravan from the 188."

"Oh?" Mr. Burke perked his brow.

"Yeah—here." Swank dug into his suit, pulling out a wrinkled envelope and handing it over. "It's addressed to Mr. Burke. Apparently, all the other casinos got the same letter. Your friends out there have no idea which casino you're in, do they?"

"No… I'm afraid I didn't get the chance to tell them," Mr. Burke replied, opening the letter carefully. "But Sarah knows me well enough to know where I'd go. Vegas was certainly my first choice of a destination…"

"Vegas is _everybody's_ destination, baby," Swank smirked with a wink, sauntering away to carry on with his business.

Mr. Burke marched off, sitting beside a slot machine and unfolding the letter. He held it upright and read over it intently. The letter read:

_To Mr. Burke,_

_Where ever you are, we need to talk. If this letter reaches you, send one back to the 188, and for God's sake, tell us where you are. Michael at the Slop N Stop said he saw you walking off toward Vegas._

_Anyway, me and Bryan are doing well. Veronica's become a damn good friend of ours, and so far, we've been running errands for the Brotherhood, collecting tags from fallen soldiers and scouting locations of rumored technology, etc. Veronica's talking about convincing Elder McNamara to let outsiders in, and I think that's a good idea, especially for this chapter. The Nevada Brotherhood are pretty wounded and isolated out here._

_Maybe if I introduce you to the elder, we can show him that outsiders can be good allies._

_Anyway, you better write us back, you creepy bastard. We miss ya._

_Sincerely,_

_Sarah Lyons._

Mr. Burke read over the letter twice, sighing and folding it up before slipping it into his pocket. He took a moment to process everything he'd read, thinking well of Sarah and Bryan. He knew they'd do well in the Brotherhood, but quite honestly, he almost expected them never to resurface in his life. The two of them found a place where they belonged, after all. It seemed unnecessary for them to spare Mr. Burke any thought now.

Nevertheless, he smirked, knowing full well why they still bothered to contact him. It was a strange little bond, a bizarre sort of connection shared by all the misfits who once came together for Project Purity, a weird family of strangers.

In fact, the more he pondered on them, the more he found himself missing their faces—Bryan's passionate youngster attitude, Sarah's charming smile and silky blonde hair…

Mr. Burke ran a hand down his face, sighing again and reaching his feet. He needed to write them back—but beforehand, there was another matter of business he was scheduled to attend to.

He left the casino and strolled under the brilliant flashing lights of the strip at nighttime, smirking all around as he approached Gomorrah. As usual, he gave the greeter a nod and a wave, walking through the casino until he reached the door in the corner of the far room, across from the stage and the crowd. This door led up to Cachino's office, and it was always guarded by an Omerta grunt, just as it was now.

"I have a meeting with Cachino, my good man," Mr. Burke said politely.

The grunt recognized him, nodding and unlocking the door. He escorted Mr. Burke upstairs, both of them entering Cachino's office—and to Mr. Burke's surprise, the room contained more people than he expected, at least three others, all of them important members of the Omerta family, though he couldn't remember all their names off the top of his head. They all stood around the room, and Cachino was seated firmly behind his desk, his sausage-like fingers intertwined and his beady eyes staring up at Mr. Burke fixedly.

Mr. Burke gave him a nod and sank into the chair across from him. "I believe we're meant to discuss an increase in the distribution of grain alcohol from your stills in exchange for a greater supply of—"

"Nah, nah—forget all that," Cachino interrupted, swatting a hand and leaning forward. "I got a message for your boss, Burky Burke."

Mr. Burke's eyes narrowed. "I _am_ the boss now, Cachino."

Cachino's thin brows raised. "Reeeally, now? Ain't that the cat's ass. You got promoted."

Mr. Burke flashed a whimsical smirk in response.

"Well, in that case… the message is for you," Cachino corrected, his tone taking on a note of severity. "We got a little problem, here. Clanden—shut the door."

One of the younger Omertas—Clanden—closed and locked the door. Mr. Burke took in a deep breath, feeling a touch of anxiety, though he showed no reaction.

"You listen to me_ real_ closely, Burky Burke—because you're only gonna get _one_ warning," Cachino muttered grimly, his eyes locked with Mr. Burke's. "What I'm about to say does _not_ leave this room—and if I find out it _did _leave this room, I'm gonna make damn sure you can't _ever _squeal again. You hear?"

"I hear," Mr. Burke replied tonelessly.

Cachino glared into him for a moment, then sighed, his shoulders relaxing. He grabbed a piece of paper and held it up. "You know what this is?"

Mr. Burke blinked. "Paper?"

"The securitrons started spitting these out a few hours ago—it's an obituary for the big man," Cachino explained. "Which presents a problem for us."

"I'm sure we can all continue to conduct business on our own," Mr. Burke figured.

"Yes… we can_ continue_, but we can't move _forward_," Cachino grumbled. "Y'see, I had plans… we _all_ had plans. We've been meticulously planning the biggest heist in the history of New Vegas, and we were gonna pull it on the big man himself."

"But we've been working with Mr. House since we got here… we know how he plans, how he thinks, and how he operates," Clanden said.

"Big Sal had it all mapped out for us," another Omerta—Nero—added on. "But, now that Mr. House is gone… it fucks up the plan completely. We can't plan around Mr. House's backup plans anymore, because Mr. House ain't the one in _charge_ anymore."

"The person who_ killed _Mr. House is in charge now," Cachino stated. "And the only people who've been allowed into the Lucky 38 are a courier and a few of her friends. So, I think we all know who's to blame here. _They_ are."

"I see," Mr. Burke murmured, slowly nodding. "Well, what do you plan to do now?"

Cachino, Clanden, and Nero exchanged cold smirks with one another.

"Well… once the new leader gets cozy in the ivory tower, we're gonna invite her here," Cachino informed. "Big complimentary dinner for our new business partner. Horay for her. She and her little friends can eat 'till their heart's content, but none of 'em are gonna leave here alive. They die here, we clean up the mess quietly, and we move in on the 38 before sunrise. End of story."

"And, we'd like to extend the opportunity to the Tops—_if _you're willing to spare a little manpower to oversee the whole operation here," Clanden elaborated. "The Tops and Gomorrah will run a co-owned Lucky 38, _and_ a co-owned Mojave."

"Yeah… we know this little courier is more than she seems," Cachino determined. "Hiring extra people of power to remove her is undoubtedly our best chance of success. So… Burky Burke… what say you, eh?"

Mr. Burke easefully intertwined his fingers, gnawing his lip as he stared down in thought. He knew himself well enough to know he could succeed in such an endeavor—in fact, manipulative struggles of power were something of a specialty to him—but now, as he pondered on the idea of killing a perfect stranger for money and power, his stomach gave a nauseated churn, and he resolved that he didn't like the idea one bit.

Still, he couldn't outwardly deny the opportunity. The Omertas wouldn't take kindly to that. In fact, they probably wouldn't let him leave this room alive.

Mr. Burke released a heavy sigh. "Well… it certainly is a lucrative opportunity. Who is this courier, anyway? Why all the fuss about her?"

"I'unno… she carried something important of Mr. House's, and she just got wrapped up in all this by chance," Cachino shrugged. "Just a lucky roll of the dice. But her luck's about to run out, you ask me."

"So… we wait for her to announce herself as the new owner of the Lucky 38, we invite her here to celebrate, and we do away with her quietly?"

"Her and her friends, yeah. She's got some junkie with her, and a Followers doctor… but Sandra's the main target."

"I see. And we…"

Then, Mr. Burke trailed off, the name sinking into his mind, a sense of disbelief washing over him all at once. As he sat across from Cachino in the cool leathery chair, he felt as if he was slowly becoming submerged in water, goosebumps crawling up and down him as he gave the man a long, skeptical stare.

"What did you say?" Mr. Burke exhaled.

"Sandra's the main target," Cachino repeated. "Sandra. Y'know… Courier Six."

Mr. Burke gulped painfully, trying his damnedest to show no visible reaction as he took in a slow, nervous breath. Suddenly, he felt as if he was living in a dream, as if an impossible series of coincidences were in the works, as if some divine being had orchestrated the greatest freak-chance reunion he'd ever know. Yes, now it made sense—the courier he'd heard so much about, the redheaded vagabond who visited the Lucky 38, the crimson-haired girl he saw in passing at the 188 all those weeks ago—it was simply too uncanny to be.

And yet, _it was_.

The Capital's lone wanderer had become the Mojave's mysterious courier.

And beyond the deep shock and bizarre coincidences of it all—now, the Omertas planned to target and assassinate her inside their own casino, and Mr. Burke was expected to go along with the plan without argument.

"Er… all right," Mr. Burke said, quickly straightening out and flashing his old devilish half-smile. "I concede, your impeccable eye for opportunity is too grand to turn down. I'm in."

Cachino grinned nastily. "There's a good man. But, for the time being… don't tell your buddies at the Tops just yet. We gotta have some time to spread some bad rumors about her, y'know… get the people on our side, make everyone want her gone. That way, hiring the Tops to help out will be much easier."

"An excellent idea. I love it," Mr. Burke lied. "No need to rush things."

"Exactly," Cachino affirmed. "Now, you can go… and remember. Not a word to anybody. Not a _single word_."

"Of course." Mr. Burke gave a conclusive nod and a final convincing smile, standing and marching out of the room.

He maintained his disposition of nonchalance as he marched downstairs, strolling across the casino as his heart and mind both raced in unison. Sandra, the lone wanderer—the courier—not only was she here, but she was about to be targeted by the most dangerous crime outfit in New Vegas, and he had no way of warning her.

He couldn't simply march across the street to the Lucky 38. He wouldn't be allowed inside—and if the Omertas saw him approach the 38, they would know that he intended to betray them.

So, Mr. Burke stepped out of the casino with his hands coiled into fists, feeling thoroughly frustrated and conflicted. He spared the Lucky 38 a glimpse before marching off down the strip, heading toward the Tops and wondering what on Earth he could do.

As he made his way back to his home casino, he began planning out his letter to Sarah in his head. He would write her back immediately, explaining the entire situation to her and pleading for her help. Truthfully, he knew Sarah probably couldn't help very much—but Mr. Burke was at an absolute loss. He hadn't the faintest idea of what to do now, and Sarah was the only person in the world who would drop everything to rush to his aid.

"Oh, God, I need you here…" he breathed, massaging his temples and shaking his head.

Then, Mr. Burke slowed to a stop, spotting something peculiar just outside the door of the Tops.

A securitron stood idly by, as if on standby. Unlike the others, this one had no militaristic face on its screen, and it wasn't patrolling the area alongside its robotic counterparts. This securitron had a cartoony happy face on its screen, and it seemed to be watching the Lucky 38 closely from a distance.

Mr. Burke stared at it, glancing cautiously over his shoulder before daring to approach the large robot. He glimpsed between the securitron and the 38, then gave the bot a tap on the arm.

"Beg pardon," Mr. Burke said, hushing his tone. "But, by any chance… do you happen to know Courier Six?"

Yes Man turned to him. "I'm sorry. My upgraded programming dictates I am not to answer any questions for anyone except for Sandra and her companions."

"I'll take that as a yes," Mr. Burke murmured thoughtfully. "Very well, my good man. I don't need any questions answered—I only want you to deliver a message to her. Do you understand?"

Yes Man stared at him, saying nothing.

"Right, you… you can't answer… okay," Mr. Burke uttered. "Just tell them this. An anonymous source from the casino's higher-ups happens to know about a big heist being planned against the Lucky 38. The Omertas plan to remove her and her friends from power. Now, make sure—make _absolutely sure_ they get the message."

Yes Man didn't reply, but he raised one of his elongated arms, giving Mr. Burke a salute.

Mr. Burke responded with a smirk and a nod. "Good man."

Feeling somewhat reassured, he marched into the casino with haste, isolating himself in his suite and excitedly preparing to write his letter to Sarah at last.


	10. Unlikely Alliances

The following day, Vulpes finally began to stir awake, seeing the cracked, dingy ceiling of a Novac motel room above him.

He blinked drearily, many parts of him pulsating as his vision attempted to straighten out, only partly succeeding. His skull throbbing, he slowly turned his head to the side, hearing the faint clatter of dinnerware somewhere nearby.

Boone was seated at his small kitchen table, watching television and eating a plate of Brahmin steak. He turned to grab his glass of water, then paused, meeting eyes with Vulpes and seeing that he was now awake.

"Well… rise and shine," Boone mumbled, taking a swig and glancing at the TV again.

Vulpes narrowed his eyes at the stranger, his focus fixating on the red beret atop his head—a familiar mark of the bear, one he'd seen before. This man belonged to the republic.

Although, strangely, as Vulpes glared into the NCR soldier, his old feelings of instant hatred seemed hesitant to arise now. Every instance in the past, he always looked upon the NCR with nothing but absolute disgust, viewing them as insects, rigid soulless morons whose cause was void and pointless—but now, oddly enough, he only seemed to be staring at another man, a simple human being much like himself.

So very drastic, it was… the change in his perspective, the reluctance to show the same hatred Lupis had in the moments before his death. Vulpes couldn't know who he was without that hate, though now, he might be forced to find out.

Boone stole a glimpse of him, then scooted his chair closer to the bedside, offering him a bottled water. "Here."

Vulpes's eyes shifted between the water and the man's face. Then, he slowly reached out, wincing as his arm burned with pain. Still, he took the water and opened it, sitting upright and taking a long, thirsty swig.

"Damn," Boone said, raising his brows. "Most people wouldn't be able to move an arm that got slashed and stabbed all to hell."

"I'm not most people," Vulpes uttered in a weakened rasp, wiping his mouth.

"Yeah… clearly," Boone mumbled thoughtfully, eyeing Vulpes closely. "Which brings me to my first question… why were the Legion after you?"

Vulpes turned and met his gaze again. "What makes you think there was a specific reason?"

"Because the Legion don't _come_ here—not unless they're pulling a sneaky little stealth mission," Boone grumbled, his tone darkening. "They wouldn't have followed you so far into this territory unless they thought their mission was damn well worth it. So, tell me, and don't lie to me. _Why_ were the Legion _after_ you?"

Vulpes and Boone shared a long, tense stare.

Honestly, Vulpes knew this NCR soldier would likely attack him if he learned the truth—but just as well, he couldn't think of a fitting lie, and beyond that, the idea of lying simply exhausted him. He'd been lying for years now, blending into profligate society and working toward the interests of the Legion… but it all turned out to be for nothing, and now, he had no Legion to work for, no reason to lie any longer.

Perhaps the soldier would kill him—but Vulpes sighed deeply, resolving that he simply didn't care anymore.

"Fine." Vulpes looked away, his expression draining of all its usual passion. "You want the truth? Caesar's Legion is incapable of allowing deserters to roam free or allowing the captured to live long enough to talk. Me running free from their grasp is a major threat to them—because I was the greatest of Caesar's frumentarii, and now I'm a _deserter_."

Boone glared into him for several tense seconds, his expression hardening.

"You're _Legion_?" Boone growled moments later.

"_Formerly_ Legion," Vulpes corrected, though he suspected the distinction wouldn't matter to the soldier.

Once more, there was a heated stare-off between the two of them.

Then, Boone slowly arose from his seat, hovering over the bedside in an almost threatening manner, his eyes burning into Vulpes intensely.

Vulpes merely stared at him without a hint of fear in his eyes, sighing and bracing himself for what came next. He closed his eyes and shook his head, turning away again and preparing for the final cut to black.

"Be quick," Vulpes requested. "I'm truly tired of playing this game…"

Boone continued to stare at him as if he'd never seen another human being before. Deep to his core, he despised the Legion more than anything—and despite the hot anger rising up inside him now, he also felt a conflicting sense of pity that seemed entirely out of place. After all, Boone cared nothing for any member of the Legion—and if he could, he'd kill them all in one fell swoop.

But the man before him hardly looked like a Legionary.

In fact, Boone saw it with his own eyes—the Legion attacking him, trying to corner and kill him. That was proof of his statement. This man was no longer Legion—he was a defector, an enemy of the Legion, much like he himself was.

Boone glared into him, feeling torn. He knew for certain he could never trust anyone from the Legion, but a defector? He couldn't know what to think of such a person.

After another moment of thought, Boone planted his hand to the wall, leaning over Vulpes closely and giving him an invasive once-over.

"Tell me," he hissed. "What did you do in the Legion?"

Vulpes slowly opened his eyes, meeting Boone's again. "Organized things, mainly."

"Slaves," Boone muttered grimly. "Did you ever organize the collection of slaves?"

Vulpes gave him an odd squint. "Not personally, no. I know some who have, namely from Nipton… but…"

Boone ran a hand down his face, sinking back into his chair and dwelling deeply in his thoughts.

"Say there's a stealth mission into enemy territory," Boone requested. "A covert op to collect a purchased slave. Who would've organized that?"

Vulpes stared at him. "In this town?"

"Yes," Boone confirmed. "In this town."

Vulpes sighed heavily, placing his fingers to his chin and pausing to think.

"Consul Officiorum likely would've established the paperwork before the transfer if it was a predetermined collection," Vulpes murmured. "They're the representatives who manage the ownership of laborers amidst the Legion. And, they have their own scouting team… namely for those types of stealth operations."

"Yeah, okay… do you know anyone who might've been involved in a stealth op in Novac?" Boone inquired. "I need names, here."

"I don't know all their names," Vulpes answered honestly. "I do know the lead counselor. His name is Marcus Scribonius, but he's a high-ranking and well-guarded Legionary. The last time I spoke to him was… oh."

Vulpes blinked, only just remembering his last encounter with the council member, Marcus Scribonius. It was during a slave auction, when he and his fellow Legionaries were standing in a massive crowd as the council members brought out their new slaves one by one, selling them off to the highest bidders among the Legion society. That was the day one of the slaves was assassinated, a young thin woman in the early stages of pregnancy. Nobody ever found out why the slave was shot or who had killed her, but none of the Legionaries ever forgot the bizarre encounter.

"Ah… yes," Vulpes muttered. "The last time I spoke to Marcus was the day a slave was mysteriously killed before our eyes. A woman named… Clara?"

"It was Carla," Boone corrected him, his tone giving an angry fluctuation. "And I'll hunt the Legion and their little council in my own time. I want the son of a bitch who _sold_ her."

Vulpes eyed him. "So you knew her, then…"

"Who sold her to the Legion?" Boone barked insistently, leaning forward and glaring daggers into him. "Nobody in this town looks me in the eye anymore. I know it was one of them—and I know you know which one."

"Calm yourself—I don't have a name for you," Vulpes griped. "I rarely spoke to Marcus. All I know is that he and his council only organized one exchange in this town, and they conducted the sale with a Novac woman. I don't know her name."

Boone suddenly fell silent, thinking of everyone in town and racking his brain. He knew of the doctor woman at the medical tent and the old woman upstairs—but there was only one woman who could've led the Legion directly to Boone's own doorstep. It was the same woman who could've supplied the Legion with a key to their very motel room. Jeannie May Crawford, the owner of the Novac Motel.

Boone leaned back, biting his lip and feeling as if a bombshell had just been dropped upon him. All the sudden, he knew exactly who was responsible for his wife's kidnapping—now, there was only the matter of handling it. Jeannie May Crawford needed to be dealt with.

Vulpes stared tiredly at him. "Do tell me if you intend to kill me. I'd rather not sit here in complete suspense…"

Boone glared at him for several more seconds. Then, at last, he began to simmer down.

"No… no, actually, I have some use for you," Boone disclosed. "If you feel like atoning for some of the shit you probably did. Consider it payback for saving your ass."

Vulpes narrowed his eyes, waiting for him to continue.

"Jeannie May Crawford—she's the only person who could've done what you described," Boone explained. "She sold my wife to the Legion. So… I think she oughta have an accident tonight."

Vulpes said nothing at first, then revealed a faint little half-smile. "I like your aptitude for vengeance, stranger."

"It's not _vengeance_," Boone said firmly. "That's the _Legion's_ way."

Vulpes perked his brow. "Oh? Then what do you call it?"

Boone took a deep breath, leaned forward, and delivered the solidest answer Vulpes could've expected from him.

"_Justice_."

* * *

The evening after Sandra's grand return, she and her friends decided to hit the town.

Sandra, Arcade, and Niner marched down the strip as if they owned the place—Sandra wearing her tightly-fitted red-and-black dress that Niner had bought for her, a crooked bonnet hat tending over her sunglasses, spiked collar in plain view as she puffed on a cigarette, her silvery 45 tucked underneath her breasts, safe from sight. Niner wore his sleek Nine of Spades outfit, a clack-and-white pinstriped getup and a stylish feathered fedora on his head, Arcade wearing a sleek navy blue suit and a hat to match. And now—as the three of them headed toward the UltraLuxe, Melody, Scar, and ED-E all staying behind in the Lucky 38—Sandra felt excited for a night of fun.

"What is our goal here, exactly?" Arcade asked as the three of them sauntered past the Tops.

"To have fun, observe the White Glove Society, and learn everything we can," Sandra replied simply. "I know you hate it, but we're gonna have to get involved in whatever drama they've got going on. And we're gonna have to do that with every faction we come across, too. We gotta get our foot in the door everywhere."

"I'm aware," Arcade sighed, seeming exhausted by the mere thought. "It's for the greater good, gotta remember that…"

"Ah, man, this is the classiest place in town," Niner grinned, trading a high-five with Sandra. "Been wantin' to come here since we got to Vegas. 'Bout damn time."

"Yes, well… remember, we're not here to start bar fights and shoot up," Arcade told him straightly. "Last time I had to pull your ass out of Gomorrah, some fat guy with a neckbeard kicked me in the shin. Not pleasant. Don't put me through that again."

Sandra and Niner erupted with laughter, Arcade rolling his eyes as they approached the grand lightened stairway of the UltraLuxe.

Then—before any of them could pass the water fountain—a securitron rolled in front of them, blocking their path.

Sandra squinted at it, suddenly recognizing the face on its screen. "Yes Man!"

"Yes, man!" Yes Man cackled, giving her a pleasant wave. "Good to finally see you again!"

"You too," Sandra replied with a smile. "We planned to come get you from the Tops after we checked out the UltraLuxe."

"No need, here I am!" Yes Man exclaimed. "Are you ready for me to overtake the Lucky 38's mainframe now—?"

"_Shhh_!" Arcade and Niner both hissed, urgently waving him down and glancing around warily.

"We can't talk about that out here," Sandra whispered to the bot.

"Oh, oh, yes!" Yes Man said, his volume lowering. "I understand!"

"And the answer is yes," Sandra told him with a nod. "We're ready for you to flicker over to that computer system now, whenever you want."

"Wonderful! But before I do, I have a message for you," Yes Man informed. "An anonymous higher-up from the casinos told me this; the Omertas of Gomorrah are planning a heist of the Lucky 38, and they intend to remove you from power."

Sandra, Arcade, and Niner all gaped at the robot in astonishment, then traded surprised expressions with one another.

"Do you have any more information than that?" Sandra asked.

"Afraid not," Yes Man replied. "But now, you can plan accordingly and watch your step around them! You guys better be careful!"

"Um… yeah, we plan on it," Sandra told him. "Thanks for telling me."

"You're welcome!" Yes Man enthused. "Now, I'm off to the Lucky 38! Meetcha there!"

Instantly, the robot's face went black, and the entire securitron's body gave a mad convulsion, jerking back violently and landing in the water fountain with a bombastic SPLASH.

Sandra and her friends jumped, staring at the empty securitron in awe, and many people in passing were now slowing to a stop, staring at the robot in surprise and whispering frantically to one another. Arcade glanced around cautiously, seeing that many eyes were staring their way now. Niner noticed the same thing, and Sandra gulped, biting her lip and feeling as if hundreds of eyes were burning holes in her.

"Just… just walk," Arcade urged quietly, stepping forward and heading toward the UltraLuxe. "Just walk. Just walk…"

Sandra and Niner followed suit, the three of them distancing themselves from the alarming scene at the water fountain. They all let out a sigh of relief when they reached the inside of the UltraLuxe Casino.

Once they all simmered down, Sandra and Niner met eyes, both of them instantly bursting with laughter at the ridiculousness of the ordeal. Even Arcade spared a few chuckles. Then, after they checked with the greeter and showed that they were carrying no obvious weapons, they all stopped in the center of the casino, exchanging serious glances with one another.

"The Omertas have never been the friendliest family," Arcade muttered. "Even by the standards of Vegas…"

"We're gonna have to do something about 'em," Niner figured, cracking his knuckles. "I'm ready for 'em if you guys are."

"Oh, come on… they're not gonna get the 38 from us," Sandra laughed. "Their plan is wild. It's never gonna work. But, now I guess we know which faction we're gonna kill off first…"

"True… and we have no way of knowing if this mysterious gossip is even true or not," Arcade added. "But even if it's not, the Omertas aren't the types to coincide with a peaceful society. Removing them would be the best course of action."

"That's another problem for another day," Sandra disclosed, smirking and sauntering forward. "Let's go explore—c'mon."

"No… no, I think I'll just stay here," Arcade said, taking a seat at the counter. "We don't need to party our hearts out just to observe the place."

"Now, see… that's where you're _wrong_, Doc," Niner snickered. "Partyin' is _exactly_ how we get all inter-tangled-like."

Arcade stared at him. "What word do you think you just used?"

"Dude, come on," Niner urged, tugging his sleeve. "You never wanna have fun."

"We're not _here_ to have fun," Arcade griped, yanking his arm back. "We're here to gather intel. Are we not?" He looked to Sandra for support.

Sandra glanced between them and shrugged. "I think we can do both."

"Damn right, we can!" Niner exclaimed, smacking Arcade's arm. "Come on!"

"Look—if you two wanna run off and act like idiots all night, be my guest," Arcade stated, turning away on his stool. "I'm gonna stay right here and play my usual role as the only sober voice of reason."

Sandra and Niner stared at him glumly. They swapped glimpses, then wandered off by themselves, leaving Arcade alone at the counter.

Arcade stared after them for a moment, then sighed and ordered a drink. The bartender nodded and shuffled off, and then, Arcade turned, spotting an old rancher sitting beside him, his care-worn face spotted with sweat and riddled with concern. He was repeatedly wiping his face with a rag, sighing and shaking his head down at the countertop.

"Ah… excuse me," Arcade started, grasping the rancher's attention. "I don't mean to pry, but… are you all right? You don't look well."

"That's 'cuz I _ain't_ well," the man—Heck Gunderson—replied with a scoff. "I'm gonna tan my boy's hide for puttin' me through this…"

"Your son?" Arcade guessed.

Heck nodded. "Boy went missin' in here. I got folks all over the place lookin' for him, but they ain't seen hide nor hair of my boy… nobody has."

"Your son… your son went _missing_ here?" Arcade uttered. "Just now?"

"About three hours ago… just up and vanished," Heck sighed hoarsely. "Got my Brahmin guards lookin' all over alongside the White Glove folks, but it ain't doin' no good. I just came here to organize a beef deal, like always… now this…"

Arcade gave him a sympathetic stare. "Well, I don't… I'm not an expert or anything, but my friends and I might be able to help you look."

"I'd appreciate it, stranger," Heck replied with a grateful smile.

Arcade gave him a conclusive nod and stood from his stool, forgetting about his drink. He set off to find his friends, though searching for them in this enormous casino proved a difficult task.

Sandra and Niner were headed to the dining area, a place privy only to the highest-ranking members of the White Glove Society and those they deemed worthy of reservations. Sandra had no clue how they would be permitted entry—but once they arrived, Niner took care of it. He strolled forward with ease, approached the greeter, and gave the man a formal nod and a tip of his hat.

"Greetings, sir," Niner smiled. "I have a reservation under the name… Major… Tom Young."

The greeter nodded, set his clipboard aside, and led Sandra and Niner across the elegant dining area. He seated the two of them at a table in the far corner. Soon after, a waitress came to take their orders, and after she left, the two of them met eyes.

"Swish," Niner smirked, making a basketball-shooting motion. "Told ya' I had connections up here, babe."

"Who the hell's Major Tom Young?" Sandra asked with a laugh.

"I'unno," Niner shrugged. "Saw his name on the reservations list."

They both sniggered and high-fived. Then, they fell silent, Sandra leaning back and lighting a cigarette, Niner gazing off to the side, mindlessly twirling his dog tags.

"Bloke reminds me of Mike sometimes," Niner murmured softly.

Sandra squinted at him. "What…?"

Niner shook his head and straightened up. "Nah. Nothin'…"

"No, tell me," Sandra insisted.

Niner stared at her, sighing deeply and wearing a strangely serious expression, one that hardly suited him.

"Doctor man… and his whole 'I'm the only responsible person here' thing," Niner grumped. "He reminds me of Mike when he does that."

"Who's Mike?"

"My brother."

"You have a brother?"

"Nah… he's dead, man."

Sandra went quiet, suddenly feeling a deep sense of sympathy. She never knew Niner had a brother, never asked about those dog tags he always wore…

"Tell me," Sandra requested, scooting closer. "Tell me about him."

"Eh…" Niner made a sideways nod. "I dunno. I don't really like talkin' about it. But… eh… I guess it's best to just get it outta the way, yeah?"

"Yeah. Lemme hear it."

Niner took a deep breath and explained the entire story—how he and Mike were born in California, how their NCR father disappeared one day, and how Mike wanted to follow in their father's footsteps, trying to be responsible and become the NCR soldier their father always wanted him to be. Then, Niner paused and sighed, sinking deeper into his chair.

"They didn't even find most of his body," Niner exhaled. "Mike got sent to this mutant-infested shit hole, and he got blown to pieces. His general gives me his tags, and a pat on the back… like that's supposed to make it all okay."

"Jesus," Sandra frowned. "I'm sorry…"

Niner shook his head, upturned his fresh beer, and downed the entire thing in four massive gulps. "I'm done talkin' man."

The two of them sat in silence for several minutes, Sandra wanting to say something, though nothing came to mind at first.

Then, she thought of Arcade, turning to Niner and offering him a smile.

"It's not really a bad thing that Arcade acts like your brother," Sandra said.

Niner shot her an odd look.

"I know it can be annoying, but… we both kinda rely on it," Sandra continued. "I meant what I said… when I said me and you would run Vegas into the ground without him. I don't think me and you could get anything done without Arcade around."

Niner scoffed out a faint laugh.

"It's kinda like Mike's watching over you through him," Sandra murmured, gazing down and stroking her scarred wrist. "And my dad's doing the same thing…"

Niner stared at her for a moment, then leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at her. "You remember your old man?"

Sandra gulped, pondering on the question as her head began to ache. "Sorta. I can't remember any details, but… the attitude… and the idealist streak… and the doctor's coat… I swear, Arcade is _just_ like my father."

Niner gave a slow nod. "He's just like my brother, too. Tha's weird."

Sandra let out a laugh. "It's good weird…"

The two of them ordered another round of drinks, and once the alcohol began to loosen them up, their conversation returned to its usual flow of nonsensical humor.

All the while—Arcade was growing exhausted, marching around the casino and searching for his friends. He sighed, approaching the nearest counter and soliciting the attention of the man behind it, a man in a tuxedo with a large top hat.

"Excuse me—I'm looking for someone," Arcade said. "Can you help me out?"

The man in the tuxedo—Mortimer—released a long, groaning sigh. "I believe we've already been down this road, sir."

Arcade cocked his head and squinted strangely at him. "Are you _sure_?"

"Yes… and I will tell you the same thing I told the investigator," Mortimer replied with disdain. "We've done everything in our power to locate the missing bride, and there is nothing more to be done. Simple as that."

Arcade stared at him for a moment. "Er… right. Well, while we're on that topic… is there any way I could speak to this investigator?"

Mortimer spared him a skeptical look. "If I might ask… have you found any information that might assist in his investigation?"

Arcade hesitated. In reality, he had no clue what was going on—he only knew one thing for sure. It seemed that people were going missing regularly here in the UltraLuxe, and if that was the case, his friends might be in danger as well as the rancher's son. With all of this possible kidnapping going on, this mystery investigator was the person whom Arcade most needed to see.

"I just need to talk to him," Arcade answered vaguely.

"Very well." Mortimer reached behind the counter, pulled out a card, and handed it over. "This is his room number. He hasn't checked out yet, so he should still be there."

"Thank you," Arcade said with a nod, turning and marching away.

After another long walk around the spacious wings of the casino, Arcade eventually found himself climbing a large set of stairs, entering the hallway containing all the hotel suites. Unlike everywhere else in the casino, this area seemed oddly quiet, with nobody around and no noise stirring whatsoever.

Arcade checked the card, approached the investigator's room, and knocked on the door. There was no response.

"Hello?" Arcade called out, knocking again. "I can't find my friends, and some other people are missing, too. I wanted to talk to you about this missing bride thing… anyone there?"

Still, there was no reply.

Arcade sighed and turned the knob, pushing the door open and peering inside.

Then—his heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach.

In the center of the hotel room, a fresh corpse was strewn across the lush rug, a blood splatter beneath his cracked skull. The investigator lay cold and lifeless on the floor—and before Arcade could react, two arms snapped around him, a hand clasping over his mouth and pressing a wet rag firmly to his nose.

Arcade fought and struggled for a moment—and then, as the chloroform invaded his senses, his arms went limp, his eyes beginning to drift shut as his consciousness abandoned him.

One of the White Gloves caught Arcade as he fell unconscious, another White Glove standing alongside him. From behind them both, Mortimer emerged, staring down at Arcade and twirling his mustache thoughtfully.

"Very good," Mortimer sneered with a nasty smirk. "Now we have a far less problematic replacement. Go to the cooler, store him there, and release Ted Gunderson. Try to convince him that this was all a misunderstanding. If you can't convince him, then… you know what to do."

The two White Gloves nodded, hoisting Arcade upright and carrying him off with haste.

* * *

As night fell upon the wasteland once more, Vulpes Inculta strolled down the street with ease, wearing a new suit jacket and still feeling several pains all over, though it didn't matter. He smirked, adjusted his hat, and approached the house that Boone had instructed him to, reaching out and knocking on the door.

When no answer came, he knocked again.

Moments later, the door opened, and a tired Jeannie May Crawford appeared, rubbing her eyes and adjusting her glasses.

"Everything all right, sir?" Jeannie asked with a yawn. "Awfully late to be dropping in…"

"Jeannie May," Vulpes replied in his usual eerie tone. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm new in town, and I was told that you and Cliff are essentially in charge around here."

"Well… more or less," Jeannie shrugged. "Why?"

"Because, that being the case… _you're_ the one to see when something important needs to be reported," Vulpes deducted. "Am I right?"

"I suppose," Jeannie said, blinking herself fully awake. "What do you need to report?"

"A Legion scouting party," Vulpes informed. "Just beyond the dinosaur, just barely out of the sniper's range of fire. Come and see."

Jeannie's eyes seemed to widen in alarm. She nodded, briskly following Vulpes up the street.

The two of them took a brisk stride toward the edge of town, Vulpes leading her past the dinosaur, glimpsing up at it and brandishing a sly, faint half-smile.

Vulpes continued to lead her onward, he and Jeannie marching across the desert under the night sky—Jeannie glancing around frantically, as if she expected a maniac to leap out from behind the nearest cacti.

At last, Vulpes slowed to a stop, holding up his hand and motioning downward.

Jeannie stopped beside him, following his eyes to the ground and seeing several Legion corpses strewn across the desert sands.

"I d… I don't understand," Jeannie muttered, turning to Vulpes. "They're dead."

Vulpes's eyes sparkled an ominous blue, his wicked smirk seeming to widen. "Yes… they are. _Just like you_."

Jeannie opened her mouth to reply—but a hellish gunshot rang out from the sky, her head imploding in a morbid crackle of bone and mush, blood splattering across her shoulder as the bullet ripped through her skull, crimson spotting Vulpes's face, though he didn't seem to react, didn't even blink. He merely stared at the woman as she crumbled lifelessly to the ground, still wearing his cold smirk and calmly cupping his hands. After a deep breath, he turned on his heel and marched away without a word.

When he reached the top of the dinosaur, Boone was standing at the edge, still gripping his rifle tightly and inhaling several deep breaths. Vulpes merely stood behind him, waiting for him to acknowledge his presence.

Boone slowly turned, releasing a massive exhalation and finally lowering his rifle. "Well… that's it, then."

Vulpes nodded. "It is indeed."

The two of them paused.

"Well, then." Vulpes cocked his head questioningly at the sniper. "What now?"

Boone stared at him. "No idea. You?"

Vulpes gave him a surveying look. "That depends on if you're planning to enact retribution."

Boone scoffed at him. "Don't use that word with me. If I planned to kill you, then trust me—you'd be dead before_ she_ was."

Vulpes gave a slow nod. "Very well. Then, I suppose… I'll be going now."

Boone squinted at him. "Going where? Where does a Legion deserter go?"

"Well… ordinarily, nowhere," Vulpes replied. "They die."

Boone gave him a caustic stare. "You know what I mean."

Vulpes hesitated, glancing past him and eyeing the shining Lucky 38 in the far distance.

"I have a destination in mind," he uttered. "Have you heard of Courier Six?"

Boone nodded. "Yeah… heard about her on the radio. Survived a murder attempt. Why?"

Vulpes revealed another sly smile. "I happen to know her… and she has big plans for the Mojave. Not to mention, a safe refuge from the Legion."

Boone glared at him. "She plan to work against the NCR?"

"I can't say for certain," Vulpes answered honestly. "She seems indifferent regarding the republic. But her goals are positive ones, from what I can tell."

Boone stopped to think, then slid his rifle into its sling and grabbed his bag. "Good enough for me, then."

Vulpes blinked. "You plan to join me there?"

"I don't see why not," Boone grumbled. "Better than staying here. Just don't pull any tricky Legion shit, or I'll put you down."

"I'd like to see you try," Vulpes snarked.

Boone narrowed his eyes. "You talk a lot of shit for someone who's beaten all to hell."

Vulpes returned his squinting stare. "I suspect you'd do the same in such a state, soldier boy."

Boone made a sideways nod, and the two of them departed the dinosaur mouth, marching out of Novac without any glance-backs or goodbyes.


	11. Trippin' Through the Trials

"I don't know where the hell Arcade got off to…"

Sandra and Niner were several beers in now, both of them joking around as their minds and mannerisms began to loosen up. Neither of them had seen hide nor hair of Arcade for a long while now—so, they stood and headed out of the dining area, making fun of the White Gloves' creepy masks in hushed voices and snickering childishly as they did.

After a bit of searching, the two tipsy friends wandered up to the counter where Mortimer stood.

"Oy, buddy," Niner barked, slapping the countertop. "We're lookin' for someone."

Mortimer slowly lowered his clipboard, releasing a heavy sigh. "What else is new…"

"What?" Niner rounded on him. "You cockin' an attitude with me? D'you know who I am? I'm Major Tom _Young_, motherfucker!"

Sandra laughed and waved him down, straightening up and facing Mortimer properly.

"Sorry… a friend of ours got separated from us," she explained. "Followers doctor, glasses, blonde hair, green eyes… you seen anyone like that?"

Mortimer gave her a blank look, then a nod. "Why, yes, I have. I'm afraid he isn't here now."

Sandra and Niner traded eyes.

"Whaddoya mean, he isn't here?" Niner asked.

"I mean just that. He left the UltraLuxe," Mortimer lied masterfully. "It seems he was searching for you as well. But, when he wasn't able to find you, he chose to leave the casino. His own words."

Sandra and Niner swapped faces again.

"Doesn't sound like him," Niner surmised, squinting at Mortimer.

"No. It doesn't," Sandra uttered.

Mortimer merely stared at them, offering a dismissive shrug. "That's all I know. Now, please… if there's anything else we can do for you, do let us know."

"Well… we could stay the night," Sandra mumbled to Niner. "Poke around while we're here…"

Niner nodded, pulled out his chained wallet, and dumped several pressed-together bottlecaps onto the counter, making them break apart from one another and sending them scattering about. Mortimer stared down at them, then gave Niner a vacant look.

"Big suite, two beds, no waiting," Niner smirked with a salute. "Chop chop, worker boy."

Mortimer narrowed his eyes, then sighed disdainfully, bending down and collecting each cap before sliding a card out to them.

"This is our only free room at the moment," Mortimer disclosed. "Enjoy your stay."

"Thank ya' kindly," Niner said, taking the card and sauntering off with an odd sense of importance. Sandra swallowed a snicker as she followed.

Once the two of them were out of earshot, they spoke.

"You act like the king of Vegas when you're wearing your good duds, you know that?" Sandra chuckled. "Totally changes your whole personality."

Niner flashed a smug smile and proudly flicked his collar. "Ye'ap. I'm what's known as _man-pretty_, Six. Babes swarm all over me and blokes see somethin' important in me. I can't explain it. It's a gift is what it is…"

Sandra choked out a laugh. "_Man-pretty_?"

"Yup yup. And lemme tell ya' somethin' else—if I swung the same way as our doctor man, our little group would be a_ whole_ lot more disgusting," Niner cackled. "'Cause that motherfucker's man-pretty, too."

Sandra gaped at him. "Dude. Are you telling me you'd _bone Arc_—"

"_No_," Niner yelled quickly. "I'm sayin' if I _swung that way_, I would."

Sandra nodded. "Okay… no… that's still weird."

"Why's it weird? You got a problem with gay dudes?"

"No… I have a problem with you saying Arcade is like a brother to you, then turning around and saying you'd—"

"Aaaah, man, stop it. You ruined it. You _ruined_ it, Six."

Sandra giggled as the two of them headed back to the dining area.

They both fell silent once they walked inside, seeing a young man at the front counter, carrying on a heated conversation with the woman behind the register. Sandra and Niner glimpsed at one another, stopping and eavesdropping on their argument.

"I don't know what kinda misunderstanding would make that happen," the young man growled, thumping his fist to the counter so hard, his cowboy hat went crooked.

"And I'm afraid I don't know_ what_ you're referring to," the woman—Majorie—replied curtly.

"Are you _kiddin'_ me?" the young man—Ted Gunderson—snapped at her challengingly. "I was just locked in a damn deep freezer for _hours_—your creepy-ass ghost-faced employees shoved me in there and left me to freeze! Then they let me go and say it was a _misunderstanding_? That's bullshit! My daddy's gonna raise _hell_ up in here! Mark my words!"

Majorie swiped her wavy brunet hairs aside, giving Ted a displeased stare. "For the last time, young man… I have _no_ idea what you're talking about. Period. Now, if you'd like some form of compensation, I'd be delighted to offer you a free night's stay—do visit the steam rooms, if you get the chance. It works wonders to alleviate tension."

Ted gaped at her in angry astonishment. "Are you deaf? Do you not hear what I'm _sayin'_ to you?! Your little goons are snatching people outta their casino and locking 'em up in freezers!"

Majorie glared at him silently, a few of the nearby customers turning their heads and staring at the argument interestingly. Sandra and Niner exchanged thoughtful looks as they continued to listen.

"Why're you locking people up? Huh?" Ted spat, leaning on the counter and fuming at her. "Why do y'all shove people in them freezers? I was locked up with all kinda meats, and fruits, and whatnot—why is that? What, were you plannin' on eating me or something?! Is that what you do? You _eat people_?"

Majorie glimpsed around at all the people staring, wearing a deeply-etched frown. Then, she slowly leaned forward, lowering her voice to a serious hiss.

"We remain the pinnacle of courtesy even under scrutiny of the _wickedest_ accusations," Majorie grumbled. "And we, of the White Glove Society, have never—and _will_ never—consume human flesh. It's written in the _charter_, for Heaven's sake."

"Why in the hell's that written in your charter?!" Ted hollered, not bothering to lower his own tone. "Why do you gotta make a specific rule about eating people?! Unless some of your people _like_ to go cannibal."

"_That's enough_," Majorie snarled through gritted teeth. "You're making a scene. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave. Now_ go_, before I call security."

Ted scoffed and tossed his hands up. "Oh yeah—yeah, fine, I'll go. I'll go have a talk with my father—and I'll make damn sure you're all starved out."

At that, Ted stormed away, marching between Sandra and Niner and bashing the double-doors open. Several people stared after him as he departed the dining area, Majorie sighing and shaking her head.

"Well_ that_ was cheerful," Niner murmured, making Sandra snicker. "Oy, lady—whaddid you say about some hot springs? You lot have a hot tub in here or something?"

Majorie massaged her temples, giving Niner a nod. "It's an indoor pool, complete with hot tubs on the left side, steam rooms on the right. Just down the way, there… through the opposite doors."

"Sweeet," Niner grinned, he and Sandra heading off to the swimming area hastily.

After crossing the dining area and entering the next wing—a humongous room of blue and white tiles, an elongated in-ground pool, and several rooms along either side—Niner beamed as he peeled his outfit off, eager to swim. Sandra stood by, staring down at the water and pondering on everything they overheard.

"You really think that guy was locked up in a deep freeze?" she mumbled.

"I'unno," Niner shrugged, stripping to his boxers. "I've made up crazier shit for attention."

Before she could answer, Niner darted forward and dove into the pool with a loud splash. Sandra sighed and sat at the water's edge, merely watching as Niner swam around.

Their earlier conversation still lingered on her mind—Niner's deceased brother, Sandra's long lost father, and the strange familiarity that Arcade brought to both of them. The longer she pondered on it, the more she found herself thinking of their night in the Novac motel—that single, blissful night of mental adventure and chem abuse. She couldn't know for sure exactly what she experienced that night, but she did remember feeling one certainty.

During that night, she felt wholly reassured that she remembered everything she'd forgotten about her past.

By the time she awoke the next day, the memories were gone once again—but for a single serene night, Sandra remembered feeling entirely at ease as she thought of the faces of her past, recalling them all clear as day, images that refused to revisit her now.

As Niner swam underwater, Sandra's eyes drifted over to his satchel.

Then, she smirked, splashing at the water and grasping his attention.

"Hey—you got the stuff for another Denver Triple-Dog?" Sandra asked him.

Niner perked up, his eyes sparkling with a sudden excitement. "Really? I thought you wanted me to lay off that stuff."

"Yeah, I do… but it's just for tonight," Sandra replied honestly. "It's just an experiment I wanna try out."

"What for?"

"Well… last time we did that, I ended up remembering a lot of stuff, then forgetting it all the next day."

"Okay… but… if you remember it again, ain't you just gonna forget it again?"

Sandra smiled and tapped her pip-boy. "Not if I record it."

Niner returned her smile and climbed out of the water, shaking his hairs like a dog before seating himself beside her.

"_Man_, I'm hungry," he grumbled as he dug through his bag. "Ain't eaten for shit all day…"

"Me neither," Sandra uttered, turning and eyeing the steam room just behind them. "Hey, maybe that'll make it easier. No eating, big trip, steam room… we got everything we need to induce a rag-tag spirit quest."

"Wha's a spirit quest?"

"Ah, it's this thing I did in Utah… take drugs, kill a bear."

"_What_?"

"Don't worry about it. You got all the stuff?"

"Yeah, man, I got it. Let's go."

Niner grabbed his belongings, he and Sandra heading into the steam room. They walked across the empty rounded room inside, seeking the more private area beyond it, a smaller section that was rectangular, with a single elongated bench inside. The moment they walked in, the steam fogged both of their sunglasses; Sandra and Niner shed their glasses, Sandra's hat, and her black leather jacket, both of them wearing little clothes as they sat in the steamy, isolated room. Once they were alone and out of sight, Niner peeked out the door cautiously before pulling all the necessary chems from his bag. Sandra turned on her pip-boy's radio—lowering the volume so it wouldn't overpower her recording—and Niner placed a jet inhaler in her hand. As the music played, they both smirked, met eyes, and began.

They inhaled their jet, goosebumps shooting up and down them as a rush of static-like euphoria coursed through them. Next came the steady, which worked to lull the more drastic side-effects of the jet—and at last came the psycho, priming their minds and making both of their hearts pound.

It wasn't long before the steam felt to be consuming them both, heat encasing them from every direction as every thought, stress, worry and wonder melted out of them all at once. And as their minds went blank and as they lost themselves amidst a thick fog, the misty clouds around them soon began to distort, fading wonderful colors as Sandra's eyes drifted closed.

Once more, the worries of Vegas and the anxieties of her plans all vanished in one fell swoop—and Sandra could no longer tell reality from fantasy, touch from delusion, or thought from fact. The deeper the illusion became, the more she surrendered to it, allowing it to dominate her entirely and praying it would show her whatever she most needed to see.

Her mind wandering far from reality, the delusion soon took her in full.

The dreary wasteland of the Capital flashed through her thoughts—then came the steely walls of the vault, sprinting up and down the halls without a care in the world, chasing Amata's bouncy ball and pitching a hard toy at Butch when he stole it. Time ricocheted to fast-forward—jolting past Sandra's nights lying in bed, her father smiling calmly and reading her bedtime stories…

"Vault," Sandra murmured mindlessly. "Dad… Amata… Butch…"

Instantly—she stood front and center before the shed in Andale, wearing her merc adventurer armor and smiling brilliantly. It was only after she ventured inside did she discover the horrid secret of Andale—the shed filled with human remains, freezers stacked with human meats packed and wrapped neatly inside. She felt it all over again, running from the cannibal townspeople—diving forward just when Charon's ghoulish voice penetrated the atmosphere.

"What's a matter, ah? _Can't stand the sight of your own blood_?!"

The details whizzed past her recollection—but moments after the cannibals were dead, Sandra found herself crying, clinging onto Charon and sobbing faintly into the front of his leather-armored chest. His arm wrapped around her, a raspy sigh escaping him. It wasn't long after when Sandra, Charon, and Bryan wandered over the bridge leading out of Andale, dropping all the human meat over the edge into the water before departing the area forever.

"They… eat… people," Sandra groaned. "Andale… Charon… Bryan… Charon…"

Memories of Andale seemed oddly persistent in her mind—even the moment she and her friends first arrived in the town, seeing a lot of friendly neighbors grilling burgers outside. Sandra gleefully took a burger, taking a huge bite despite Charon's warning not to.

Then—time leaped around yet again, launching her into the frantic urgency of the Enclave's invasion of Project Purity, a thick glass wall separating her from her father. He hit the glass, ordering her to run as the radiation took its toll on him, making him fall dead to the floor, Sandra helpless to save him… rushing through, crawling through places and sprinting down halls, killing every Enclave soldier on sight alongside her companions, her mind a white hot rage and her body moving of its own volition…

She didn't come to until they stood outside of the Citadel—Charon clasping her arms and giving her a violent shake, ordering her to snap out of it, milky blue eyes and reddened ghoulish visage…

"Charon…"

Sandra blinked several times at the person hovering over her, and slowly, the delusion dissipated as the steam began to part. Suddenly, the steam room came back into full view, and a man with a dark suit and a caramel complexion stood over her now, staring down at her strangely.

As reality returned to her, Sandra sat upright, hunched in the corner and glimpsing over at Niner, who was seated beside her and eyeing the stranger. Both of them stared up at the stranger dazedly, awaiting an explanation.

"Who're you?" the stranger asked.

Sandra squinted at him. "You first."

"Name's Chauncey," the stranger informed. "I'm supposed to meet the investigator here."

Sandra tiredly raised her brows, instantly thinking of the argument she'd overheard. Perhaps this had something to do with whatever shady business was going on in the UltraLuxe.

So, she smirked confidently and straightened up. "Yeah, he sent me instead. He figured I'd draw less attention, since I'm not an investigator… or even a regular here."

Chauncey sighed stressfully, sitting beside her and massaging his temples. "Okay, well… we need to get this done quickly. First of all, I do know what happened to the missing bride. I had to distract her husband while Mortimer and his goons made off with her. I'm not proud of it, but I _had_ to. Mortimer could see that I was having second thoughts…"

Sandra stared at him, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by all this random information. She and Niner glanced at one another.

"So the White Glove Society is snatching people out of their casino," Sandra determined. "Why're they doing that?"

"Well… it's not _all_ of us, only a select few elites on-par with Mortimer," Chauncey stated. "The White Glove Society doesn't eat people, but… we weren't always the White Glove Society. Before we ever had this sweet setup, there was… there was a much darker time. Mortimer and a few of his closest wanna regress back to the old ways… so, he plans to cook one big dinner out of his next captive, serve it to everyone at the elite's dinner table, and reveal the truth after everyone's already eaten. In his mind, this will persuade all of them…"

Niner perked up, suddenly looking urgent. He slapped Sandra's arm and whispered to her.

"Oy—how long have we been passed out in here?" he whisper-yelled. "Where's the doc?"

Sandra said nothing, her expression stony and her heart beginning to sink.

Instantly—her hand shot out, coiling around Chauncey's collar and giving him a hard jerk.

"Who do they have now?" Sandra demanded, leaning closer and baring her teeth like a predator about to pounce. "Who's on the pallet now?!"

"W—well—it was Ted Gunderson," Chauncey stammered. "But I saw him in the dining hall a while ago, which means Mortimer decided to release him. That can only mean they found a replacement—"

"Who's the _replacement_?" Sandra growled impatiently.

"I really don't know," Chauncey stuttered. "I swear, I don't. Mortimer doesn't trust me. He won't keep me in the loop anym—"

Chauncey's head jerked to the side—his eyes rolling back as a bullet penetrated his skull from the side.

Sandra gasped sharply and leaped to her feet, backing away and dragging Niner with her. The two of them huddled in the far corner across from Chauncey's crooked corpse, Sandra frantically groping around for her hidden handgun—

"_Hey_!"

Niner reached in between her breasts without warning—whipping out her pistol and cocking it back. A man emerged in the doorway holding a silenced 22 pistol—and Niner opened fire immediately, killing the man in seconds. They both froze as they watched the assassin crumble to the moistened floor.

Sandra stood lopsidedly against the wall, covering her chest as her head spun with shock, the steamy clouds of fog seeming to change and morph all around her. She began to suspect that she wasn't entirely sober just yet… but Niner, on the other hand, had the tolerance of a bull elephant. He spun the pistol around effortlessly before placing it firmly in her palm.

"Y… yeah… okay," Sandra panted. "Little warning next time…"

Niner smirked and cocked his head. "Well, if_ I_ could smuggle guns in my boobies, I would—but you're the only one with a rack to pack, Six."

Sandra barely heard him, inching forward and surveying the two fresh corpses before her. First, she closed the door, then bent down and began searching both bodies—finding a mask and a key on Chauncey's person, collecting the silenced 22 and a few loose bullets from the assassin. Once she was done, she handed the gun and bullets over to Niner, strapping the creepish white mask around her neck and letting it dangle around her throat.

"What the hell're you doing?" Niner asked.

"We need to go find this deep freeze," Sandra replied, stuffing her pistol beneath her breasts again. "I don't know if they took Arcade or not—but whoever they took is gonna end up being dinner soon if we don't find 'em first."

"Oh, no, wait a sec—lemme do it," Niner urged, waving for her to hand over the mask. "I wanna be the White Glove. Lemme do it!"

Sandra stopped and stared at him. "Why?"

Niner scoffed and shot her a caustic look, grabbing his feathered fedora from the bench and holding it upright. He tipped the hat and imitated a formal sort of bow. "Hellooo? Major Tom Young, atcher service Madame!"

Sandra gave him a thoughtful look. "Well, you got the broken British accent going on… that_ does_ sound fancy."

"And you could pass as my trophy wife," Niner grinned. "Nobody's gonna question a big shot walkin' around with a hot piece'a ass on his arm."

"Okay…"

"We're gonna hafta change, though. I love our fancy duds, but we gotta get some White-Glove-lookin' clothes."

"We have a keycard for the suites," Sandra shrugged. "Maybe we can do some quick shopping up there?"

Niner beamed and nodded in agreement.

The two of them dressed in a rush, dragging the bodies away from the door and hiding them from sight best they could. Once they were dressed—their handguns stowed away—the two of them marched out of the steam room briskly, strolling across the casino's swimming area before reaching the staircase up to the suites.

The widened hallway was extravagantly decorated, though strangely quiet and empty. Sandra didn't mind; she and Niner wandered from room to room, rifling through people's belongings until they found decent enough outfits. Once they were done stealing things, the two of them locked themselves in their own suite, Niner changing in front of the beds while Sandra did the same in the bathroom.

Afterward, they stood before the full-body mirror together, surveying their appearance.

Niner now wore a dark slender suit, matching the deep brown of his feathered fedora perfectly. The White Glove mask was now fixed firmly onto his face, a stringy sort of bowtie hanging from around his neck. Sandra stood at his side, hugging his arm and wearing a new pair of stolen sunglasses, these ones enormous and reflective in various colors, her curvy body fitted with a tight black dress, complete with short sleeves and a wide collar for just the right amount of provocative exposure. Sandra twirled her crimson bangs, Niner flipping a White Glove cane around his hand and catching it swiftly in the air.

"M'kay… if anyone asks, I'm Major Tom Young, a retired NCR major who was honorably discharged after a leg injury, and now I make a living selling top-tier belt buckles in the Mojave. I'm a fancy-ass badass-turned-businessman," Niner explained. "Y'got that?"

"Okay… but I seriously doubt anyone's gonna _ask_ all that," Sandra muttered.

"And you're my wife, Mrs… Mrs. Something… gimme a girl name," Niner requested.

Sandra thought for a moment, a mild headache coming on. She said the first name to come to her mind.

"Amata?" she mumbled.

"M'kay—Mrs. Amata Young, my wife who I met a year ago in Reno. I stole you away from the wise guys 'cause you were set to marry a Mafioso who beats his son, and tragically—"

"Niner—you're having_ way_ too much fun with this."

"C'mooon, lemme have this. I'm _never_ this important."

"Yeah, fine, be whoever you want—but we gotta get moving."

"Okay, okay… let's go."

They both set off, marching with a new walk as if they owned every room and painting they passed by.

When they reached the dining area once more, Sandra strolled with her arms coiled around Niner's, and he marched on with a sense of purpose she'd never seen him with before. He greeted several White Gloves in passing, tipping his hat and repeating "Goodday" several times before they found themselves approaching the bar counter.

The bar was occupied by a White Glove man, and just behind him in the corner was a metal door. Above this door was a single inscription, reading KITCHEN.

Sandra gave the inscription a subtle gesture, and Niner nodded quietly in response. Then, he swaggered up to the counter, planted his hand on the bar, and started eyeballing the White Glove vendor before him.

"Oy, mate—we're gonna be headin' down to the kitchen now," Niner told him. "Just lettin' ya' know, all right?"

The White Glove stared at him blankly. "I'm afraid that area is off-limits, sir."

Niner scoffed and shook his head, leaning even closer. "Ah, here we go again—d'you know who I am? Do you know how many times Mortimer's dinner plans have been screwed up by some shmuck or another tonight? And do you know what it's like to listen to his temper whenever he pops his top? I didn't fight in the war _and_ found my own damn belt buckle business just to be treated like this!"

"I beg your pardon, sir," the White Glove replied, slightly rearing back. "Are you a member of the White Glove Society?"

"You're damn right I am—Major Tom Young, founder of the Cali Buckle & Accessories Corporation, recently sponsored member and close personal friend of Mortimer's," Niner ranted. "And I have it on good authority that he's got some special dinner plans in the works. I gotta get down there and oversee the process. His orders."

"Can you provide me any proof of your claim, sir?" the White Glove asked.

Niner took back, and Sandra sauntered over to him, hugging his arm and pretending to pull a key from his pocket—the key she'd taken from Chauncey's body, which had been safely tucked in her palm this whole time.

"Mortimer gave him a _key_, smart guy," Sandra smiled, holding the key upright and waving it around. "He doesn't just hand out the keys to his private areas willy-nilly, now does he?"

"Ah, yes… very true," the White Glove nodded. "And who are you, Madame?"

"She's my wife," Niner stated with impunity. "Amata Young. I don't go nowhere without her. Mortimer and I have an understanding about that."

The White Glove paused for a moment, then gave them a nod. "Very well. You may proceed."

"Thank you," Niner concluded, he and Sandra marching past the bar and approaching the door.

Sandra and Niner glimpsed at one another, and then, Niner slowly inserted the key, praying it would work. Thankfully, the lock turned, and the door eased open, allowing them to both march inside.

The two of them found themselves in a drastically different environment, a metallic hallway leading toward a roasting room, where two White Glove chefs were lighting a couple of Brahmin bodies ablaze. Sandra and Niner marched past them quietly, inching down the stairs and approaching a much longer metal hallway.

"Heh," Niner uttered, smirking behind his mask. "That was fun."

Sandra snickered and glanced over at him. "You've been preparing to be a top-dog all your life, haven't you?"

"You know it," Niner boasted.

"Oh shit—heads up," Sandra whispered, tugging his arm and spotting movement down the hall. "Someone's coming."

Sandra and Niner continued to walk as if they belonged here, not minding the White Glove man approaching them. The man stopped and gave them an odd squint.

"You two—what're you doing down here?" he barked.

"You don't get to talk down to _me_, little man," Niner retorted. "Major Tom Young, sponsored member and close personal friend of Mortimer's. He wants the meal guy moved. That's why we're down here."

"Ugh," the White Glove groaned, rolling his eyes. "First he's too trusting, and then he doesn't trust _anyone_…"

The White Glove shook his head and marched past them, wandering off and grumbling under his breath.

Sandra and Niner marched on, peeking into numerous storage rooms in passing. Near the end of the hall, they stopped at the final door on the right, peering inside and seeing a spacious kitchen. They slipped inside and shut the door behind them—and then, a man appeared from the back room, a somewhat pudgy man with a balding head and a scowling expression strewn across his face.

"You two—who the hell do you think you are, just standing around when there's work to be done?!" he griped. "Chop chop! Get cooking! Do you think the world just stops when you decide to stand around doing _nothing_?!"

Sandra and Niner stared at him, exchanged glances, and moved forward. Niner fired out a fist—smashing his knuckles into the man's face and instantly knocking him out cold. Just when the man hit the floor, Sandra pulled the kitchen door closed, locking it and facing Niner again.

"Yo, Six," Niner said, leaning into the back room and waving her closer. "There's a big-ass deep freezer back here."

Sandra entered the back room alongside him, both of them strolling past shelves of food and preserved goods and anxiously approaching the cold, metal door of the deep freezer.


	12. Web of Connection

A blast of blistering cold air rushed out of the cooler as Sandra pulled the door open.

She and Niner leaned inside, surveying the misty interior—the shelves inside containing frozen meats, and the person hunched in the corner, his arms folded, his eyes closed, and his body entirely motionless.

Sandra felt as if her heart might've stopped.

"Ah hell," Niner sighed grimly.

Sandra leaped inside and skidded across the cooler's icy floor, landing on her knees and hovering over Arcade worriedly.

"Hey—hey—_wake up_!" Sandra hollered at him, clasping his freezing face and giving him a few light smacks. "_Arcade_!"

"Get him outta there," Niner urged, stepping out of the doorway.

Sandra nodded and hoisted Arcade by the front of his suit jacket, dragging him out of the cooler and placing him against the wall of the pantry. Niner shut the cooler door, then closed the pantry door as well, locking it just to make sure they wouldn't be interrupted or discovered.

"Arcade—look at me," Sandra gasped, clasping his face and lifting his head. "_Look at me_!"

Arcade's brows moved, his eyes attempting to open. "Hnn…?"

Sandra hung her head, releasing a massively relieved cloud of breath.

"What happened?" Arcade mumbled weakly, his throat hoarse and dry. "I don't… I'm _cold_…"

"They tossed you in a deep freeze, mate," Niner remarked.

Arcade drearily rolled his head to the side, staring down at his pale hand and trying to enclose a fist, his fingers aching terribly.

"Hypothermic…" he moaned faintly.

Sandra yanked him forward and trapped him in a smothering hug.

Arcade blinked, his glasses crooked, though he instantly found himself savoring the sudden burst of warmth.

Sandra held him close with one arm, placing her hand over his and warming each of his hands through several long, patient seconds. Arcade let out a deep breath, meeting Niner's eyes from over her shoulder.

"Cannibals," Niner explained with a shrug.

"Oh," Arcade uttered with a nod. "Fun…"

While Sandra lingered with Arcade and tried to warm him, Niner hunched against the door, pressing his ear to it and listening intently for any alarming sounds. So far, he heard nothing.

"We need to figure out what we're gonna do, here," Niner mumbled. "From what that Chauncey bloke said, it sounds like only a few of the White Gloves are people-eaters. It's like a secret society within their society. We gotta tell someone…"

"The… the rancher," Arcade exhaled, his chin resting on Sandra's shoulder. "The rancher I met in the lobby, he… he was looking for his son who went missing here… we could tell him…"

"I think his son got switched out for you, Doc," Niner determined. "We saw some kid in a rancher's hat raising hell before he stormed off. Said he was locked in a deep freeze for the longest time."

"Well… good that he's alive, then," Arcade muttered. "I'm not sure who we can tell, though… without presenting proof…"

"Proof," Sandra breathed, leaning back and meeting Arcade's eyes. "I have… I_ have_ proof."

"You do?" Arcade replied. "How could you possibly h…"

He suddenly stopped, squinting at Sandra's eyes, both of them shining with tears.

"Oh… don't cry," Arcade exhaled, smirking and shaking his head. "Don't cry, Sandra, I'm fine. We're all good here."

Sandra wiped her eyes, only just realizing that her eyes were watering. Instantly, she scoffed and flushed, and then she punched him, making Arcade wince and clasp his arm.

"It's _your_ fault," Sandra choked. "You fucking made me worry…"

Arcade let out a laugh, Sandra flicking him in the forehead.

"Six," Niner said. "You have proof?"

"Yeah, um…" Sandra knelt beside Arcade, turning and holding up her nuka-themed pip-boy. "I just realized… I never stopped the recording, Niner."

Niner stared at her for a moment, his eyes widening. "Oooh… you got that whole conversation with Chauncey recorded! Oh, we_ got_ 'em now!"

Arcade's eyes shifted between them both. "I have a feeling I've missed a lot…"

"Hell yeah," Niner laughed, flicking the white mask hanging around his neck. "We pulled some undercover detective shit to get down here."

Arcade's brows raised. "I have to admit… I'm impressed you two managed to pull all this off by yourselves. No offense."

"None taken… I am too," Sandra smirked. "Especially with Niner. He did all the talking. Had everyone believing he was some big shot businessman from Cali."

"Hey… you need someone to talk out their ass, I'm your guy," Niner bragged.

"I suppose that explains why you're dressed like the ghost of a cult leader," Arcade chuckled.

"You're goddamn right it does," Niner affirmed.

"I think we oughta go," Arcade said, planting a hand to the wall.

"Yeah… are you okay, though?" Sandra asked him. "You good to walk outta here?"

"Oh, absolutely… might need seventeen blankets tonight, but I'm good to go," Arcade agreed, reaching his feet and straightening out. "Let's get out of here."

"There's an express elevator right outside the kitchen," Niner informed, drawing the silenced 22 and slowly unlocking the door. "But be prepared anyhow."

The three of them grouped up, and Niner easefully pushed the door open, propping his gun on his wrist and keeping it held upright as he led Sandra and Arcade out of the pantry. Aside from the unconscious chef on the floor, there was nobody around.

So, they all stepped past the unconscious man and slipped out of the kitchen, hurrying into the elevator and pressing the button. The doors slid shut and carried them upward, opening directly beside the metal hallway where Sandra and Niner originally came from. They all rushed out the door, emerging in the public dining area and surveying the crowd, which hadn't changed at all. People were going about their business as usual, most of them blissfully unaware of the things that had transpired in the UltraLuxe this evening.

Sandra took the lead, Niner and Arcade following as she headed toward Majorie's counter. But, to her disappointment, she was gone. They all marched off and headed for Mortimer's counter, which was also abandoned.

The three of them eventually ended up in the main lobby—and right away, their attention was drawn to the center of the crowd.

Heck and Ted Gunderson, Majorie, and several White Gloves and Gunderson guards were all encircled around one another. Heck and Ted were taking turns yelling and cursing at Majorie, who was frowning and repeatedly twirling her hair, fighting a losing battle to defend the White Glove Society.

Sandra stared at the altercation, raising her pip-boy and navigating her recent recording. Once she found the right spot, she paused the recording, stepped forward, and waved to gather everyone's attention.

"HEY!" Sandra bellowed, making the crowd fall silent. "I know exactly what happened—I can clear it up for you all right now."

She hit play, and everyone in the main lobby went quiet as they listened to the entire conversation between Sandra and Chauncey. Heck and Ted Gunderson glared at the pip-boy, Majorie staring at it with a stony visage, her lip trembling as she began to shake her head. Once the recording was finished, Sandra lowered her arm, Niner and Arcade on either side of her, and she gave them all a conclusive nod.

"There you go—straight from the horse's mouth," Sandra announced. "Mortimer and a select few elites were snatching people up and trying to force the other White Gloves into cannibalism. But not all the White Gloves are to blame. Mortimer and his buddies are the bad guys, here."

Heck and Ted both shot another searing glare at Majorie, but this time, neither of them yelled.

"We haven't been able to find Mortimer," Majorie murmured regretfully. "I suppose this explains why he and his closest sponsors disappeared so suddenly…"

"I don't like this place," Heck snarled at her. "I'd burn it and blockade it all if I could… whole damn strip's a goddamn monument to inhumanity."

Majorie stared at him, her lip quivering again.

Heck let out a long, angry sigh. "But… I'll be damned if I'm gonna drive this whole damn cesspool to eating each other. You can expect the Brahmin deal to carry on like we planned…_ if_ you swear to be careful who you hire in this place from now on."

"Of course, Mr. Gunderson," Majorie muttered wispily. "Thank you."

Heck grumbled and cursed under his breath, turning away and shaking his head.

The massive crowd fell silent for a moment, and suddenly, hundreds of eyes were venturing over to Sandra and her friends, making her heart skip.

Heck and Majorie were both staring at her and her friends intently, approaching them with looks of curiosity.

"I reckon I have y'all to thank," Heck figured. "You got me my boy back. I got no words…"

"Well… we… it's a long story," Arcade sighed. "But at least it's all resolved now."

"You," Majorie mumbled, narrowing her eyes. "Who_ are_ you people? How did you get involved in the first place?"

Sandra, Niner, and Arcade all exchanged glances as an endless crowd of people stared at them, awaiting an answer. Then, Sandra smirked and folded her arms.

"My name's Sandra—Courier Six," she told them all. "I've been working with Mr. House until his recent passing. But now, I'm working as his heir to make Vegas a better place. We all are."

Majorie stared at her in shock, Heck and Ted trading awestricken expressions. Everyone else in the crowd looked similarly surprised, several of them erupting in frantic whispers of gossip.

"Does that mean you… _you're in charge of the Lucky 38_?" Majorie gasped.

Sandra gave a confirming nod. "Yeah. And unlike Mr. House, my health doesn't keep me from doing the ground work. We intend to weed out all the people like Mortimer in Vegas… which is gonna keep us all safer in the long run."

"Absolutely," Arcade agreed. "Rest assured, we have no problem with the White Glove Society in general. We just wanna make sure everyone in the Mojave is safe from the criminal elements hiding in the shadows."

"And I'm Major Tom Young!" Niner declared. "I'm a former major who founded—"

"No—his name's Niner," Sandra corrected, shooting him a look. "This is Niner and Arcade, and they're both extremely important to my job, here. We're just trying to make things better. Simple as that."

Everyone stared at them once again, and the waves of gossip rippled over the ocean of people at breakneck speed. Majorie let out an astonished breath, giving Sandra and her friends a smile.

"I don't know how to thank you," Majorie stuttered.

"You don't need to," Sandra said, sliding her sunglasses back on. "It's just our job now. C'mon, you guys."

At that, Niner and Arcade followed Sandra past the crowd, marching up the stairs and strolling out the elegant double-doors, leaving an excited crowd in their wake, spreading all the new fantastical information across the casino at light-speed.

Once the three of them were outside, Sandra released a huge breath. "_God_, that was crazy…"

"And we didn't even get plastered," Niner snarked, pocketing his hands and sauntering down the light-up stairs. "Fuckin' waste of a night."

Sandra laughed, turning and meeting Arcade's gaze, only just realizing he was giving her a long, surveying stare.

"What?" Sandra uttered.

Arcade flashed a faint smirk. "You sounded pretty worried in that recording, there."

Sandra sighed and shook her head, beginning her trek down the stairs. "Shut the hell up…"

They all marched off together, heading down the strip and approaching the Lucky 38 in the near distance—and as they did, far above them, Mr. Burke watched from the grandest window of his suite in the Tops casino, placing a hand to the glass and observing from afar as the crimson-haired wanderer ventured away with her new friends.

"_There_ you are," Mr. Burke murmured ominously. "And the new game begins."

* * *

The next day, late in the morning—after sleeping in an abandoned campsite—Boone and Vulpes collected their belongings and marched onward, treading close to Vegas's doorstep.

Due to the route they took, they were now approaching the south gate of Freeside in the far distance, Gun Runners just barely visible off to the left. For the majority of the walk, both of them were silent. Boone didn't choose to speak until Gun Runners was in eyeshot.

"So…" Boone uttered. "What can we expect when we get to Vegas? From this courier…"

"Well… quite honestly, I don't know the details," Vulpes replied. "All I know for certain is that she and her allies have some level of influence there, and they have plans to improve upon things."

Boone squinted questioningly at him. "And she knows you're a Legion defector?"

Vulpes glared ahead with a stony visage. "She knows far more than that. Or she used to…"

"Okay… I'm gonna state the obvious, here," Boone decided. "You probably have the most valuable Legion information in the Mojave. Why not take it to someone who can use it?"

Vulpes's eyes flickered over to him. "Like who, your tribe of bear soldiers?"

"Yes," Boone griped. "Or anyone else who's willing to fight the Legion."

Vulpes shot him a look, then nodded in the general direction of the 38. "Why do you think I'm going to the courier?"

Boone made a strange, skeptical face. "This girl is just a courier. She can't take on the entire Legion. The NCR could barely do that during the first fight for Hoover Dam."

"That girl is_ not_ just a courier… and she's certainly not alone, either," Vulpes mumbled. "Sandra and her friends have a knack for pulling off the impossible. They slew Lord Caesar inside his own fortress."

Boone slowed to a stop, staring at Vulpes uncertainly. "Seriously?"

Vulpes halted as well, sighing and nodding. "Yes. Seriously."

Boone surveyed him. "And you… being who you are… you're okay with that?"

Vulpes was silent for several long seconds, glancing aside and pondering deeply on the question. Moments later, he merely sighed again and gave him a shrug.

"If it was anyone else, I wouldn't be," Vulpes resolved, facing Freeside and resuming his pace. "But it had to be her."

Boone shot him an odd look before following suit.

"When we arrive… we'll visit the casinos and look for her," Vulpes disclosed. "If we can't find her, one of her companions will do. So long as we find sanctuary in Vegas, then our goal is a success for the time being."

"You said they'd be working against the Legion, not just giving us a hiding spot."

"They are. But I imagine they're managing plenty more than just that."

"Fair point. But—"

Vulpes skidded to a stop—his arm jutting out and halting Boone in his tracks.

Boone stared at him, seeing that Vulpes was glaring fixedly at a group of three suited strangers outside of Freeside's gate, all of them leaning on the wall and casually trading conversation.

"What?" Boone asked, eyeing the suited strangers. "You know them?"

"Unfortunately," Vulpes growled darkly. "Those men are frumentarii."

"Oh, well—that's all I need to hear." Boone reached for his rifle, but Vulpes grasped his arm and gave him a severe glare.

"You do that, and you'll have a price on your head for defending a deserter," Vulpes snarled through gritted teeth. "Back off. Go take the north entrance. They're _mine_."

"What are you, stupid?" Boone snapped in response. "You're busted all to hell and fucking outnumbered—not to mention, I've already killed a gaggle of these jagoffs right outside Novac."

"None of them survived, which means none of them can ID you," Vulpes growled. "But if any of these frumentarii manage to survive just by chance, they'll inform the rest of the Legion and they'll all come after you. Not to mention, the frumentarii like to keep scouts nearby to survey their missions. If _any_ of them see you get involved—"

"Don't care." Boone grabbed the butt of his rifle. "It's worth the risk to me."

"_Look_ at me, you damn fool," Vulpes glowered irritably, smacking his arm. "You want me to atone? Then let me do so now."

The two of them shared a heated glare, Boone reading every inch of Vulpes's determined visage. After what felt like hours, Boone's shoulders relaxed, and he let out a reluctant exhalation.

"You're seriously not what I expected," Boone muttered. "For a Legionary."

Vulpes's jaw twitched. He adjusted his collar and turned to face the gates once again. "I'm not a Legionary anymore."

"Apparently not," Boone determined, giving him a somewhat conflicted stare. "Look… if you run inside and go straight to the Mormon Fort, I'm sure the Kings and the bodyguards would give you backup."

"Don't mind me," Vulpes murmured with serpentine rasp, his eyes locked on the enemies afar. "I'll take care of them."

"Don't play it stupid," Boone instructed. "If you go where there're numbers, you'll be fine."

"I don't need the assistance of these Freemont reprobates," Vulpes grumbled.

"They're not _reprobates_—they're just people like you," Boone told him firmly. "You don't get to talk like that if you're not a Legionary anymore. And I know all about pride, too—pride will fuck you up on the battlefield. You better keep that in mind."

"A battlefield without pride," Vulpes muttered. "I can't_ imagine_ such a thing."

Boone spared him a thoughtful stare, turning and beginning to make his departure.

"Seeya in Vegas sometime," Boone called out with a sense of finality.

Vulpes nodded, cracked his neck, and glared at the frumentarii afar, not taking a single step forward until Boone was entirely out of sight.

The moment Vulpes began his stride toward the enemies, Boone had just vanished around the corner of Freeside's massive wall—and suddenly, he slowed to a stop. For a moment, the sniper stood stock still, not knowing why he felt such a sudden burst of hesitance. He planned to leave the ex-Legionary just as Vulpes had requested.

Still, something compelled him to double back.

Boone sighed with agitation, pulled out his rifle, double-checked it, and peeked around the corner—he watched from a distance as Vulpes stopped a few feet away from the three disguised frumentarii.

The suited frumentarii all fell silent, eyeing Vulpes intensely. The largest one—a bulking man in a hat—stepped forward, he and Vulpes locking heated glares.

"I'm surprised they sent _you_, Sanctus," Vulpes sneered. "Ordinarily, you can't manage unless you're pulling a sneak attack. How do you plan to fare in a head-on fight, I wonder?"

"That's pretty ambitious talk coming from the man who used those very same tactics in Nipton and Searchlight," the man named Sanctus snarled in response. "Look around, Vulpes. You're outnumbered. It won't be much of a fight."

"Fair point," Vulpes glowered, sliding out his machete gladius from the back of his suit. "I'd sooner call it _pest control_."

Sanctus scoffed out a laugh—he and his two followers lunged forward.

Vulpes and Sanctus slashed and swung as their blades bounded off of each other—the two followers whipping out their own weapons—one diving at Vulpes with a ripper—

Boone pulled the lever back and fired.

The man with the ripper jerked in his stance—a bullet penetrating his torso and making him crumble to the ground.

Vulpes grasped Sanctus by the collar and whipped him around—Sanctus broke away and raised his blade—Vulpes ducking down and soaring forward, bringing his blade up with a wide slash—

"_Agh_!" Sanctus hollered, staggering back as the blade sliced the side of his stomach.

Vulpes smirked devilishly and fought through every ache and pain—he charged forward again—but before he could strike, the second Legionary kicked him squarely in the back, mounting him and slashing into Vulpes's side—

BANG.

Boone felled the second Legionary, forcing him to collapse on the pavement.

Vulpes and Sanctus blinked—Sanctus glancing around in alarm—Vulpes looking up and seeing he was distracted—

With one final burst of energy, Vulpes rocketed toward Sanctus and thrust his blade through the man's stomach with all the power he could muster.

Sanctus gaped and choked—just barely managing to swing his blade once more.

Vulpes quickly jerked back—narrowly dodging a lethal blow to the throat. The blade instead slit his upper arm.

Sanctus's face twisted up in fury, Vulpes's blade still protruding out of him—and with the last of his strength, he barreled at Vulpes and smashed his thick knuckles into his face.

The punch landed squarely in the middle of Vulpes's forehead—snapping his head back and making him hit the ground hard.

Sanctus stood over him, panting and red-faced, crimson pouring out of his stomach where the machete still protruded. His energy quickly abandoning him, Sanctus raised his blade, vowing to take Vulpes with him to the afterlife.

"A-_aah_!" Sanctus grunted horribly, as someone had ripped Vulpes's machete out of him with a swift abrupt motion.

Shakily turning his head, Sanctus met eyes with Boone, who was smirking coldly and twirling the bloody machete at his eye level, wordlessly taunting him. Then—Boone whipped the blade aside, slashing Sanctus's throat in a blunt, powerful movement, making him sputter before collapsing awkwardly to the ground.

There was a long, tense silence, Vulpes lying pained on his back, Boone wiping the spot of blood splatter from the side of his cheek. The rifle and machete hanging at either of his sides, he slid the gun back into its sling before sighing and leaning over Vulpes, surveying him closely.

Vulpes was bleeding from several places yet again, glaring up at Boone with eyes narrowed into icy, pensive slits.

"I told you not to," he groaned.

"And I don't take orders from you," Boone stated in response, offering his free hand.

Vulpes stared up at him in a tired, pained glare. He didn't take the sniper's hand, but slowly sat upright by himself, inhaling deeply and forcing himself to his feet—nearly every part of him screaming in pain, his head spinning, but he managed to remain standing.

"I am… so… _tired_," Vulpes rasped angrily, wiping his face. "Of this…"

Boone scanned him up and down. "Yeah… you need a medic. Otherwise, you're not making it to Vegas. I've seen soldiers with lesser wounds die on the battlefield."

"Soldiers of the bear, perhaps," Vulpes rasped, slowly facing Freeside's gate. "But not… me…"

"Yeah, okay… you're a big billy-badass," Boone said sarcastically. "But you still bleed and die like everyone else. We're gonna stop off at the Mormon Fort before we head to the strip."

"No," Vulpes refused, placing a hand to the gate, partly for support. "I will not… resort… to…"

Boone frowned irritably at him. He then sighed, dug into his side bag, and pulled out a small injector, cautiously approaching Vulpes from behind and quickly stabbing it into his neck.

Vulpes clasped his neck and whirled around, pressing his back to the gate and giving Boone a wild look.

Boone held up the injector. "Anethetic med-x. Special little cocktail cooked up for treating wounded soldiers, courtesy of the NCR."

"_What_?" Vulpes hissed, rounding on him—and instantly, his eyes lost their focus and his legs buckled. Boone coiled his hand around the front of his suit, holding him upright just before he could fall to the ground.

Sighing and shaking his head, Boone dragged Vulpes one-handed into Freeside, approaching the entrance of the Mormon Fort and pulling the downed frumentarius along the whole way.

The moment Julie Farkus spotted them, her jaw dropped. She hurried over to Boone and helped him to escort Vulpes into the nearest medical tent, placing him on a bed as Julie and a nurse quickly began ripping his suit up, prepping him to be treated.

"God… who is he? How'd he get in this condition?" Julie asked breathlessly, shooting Boone a glance as she began treating the worst of Vulpes's many injuries.

Boone stared down at the unconscious Vulpes with an unreadable visage.

"His past just caught up with him," Boone disclosed. "That's all."

Julie gave him an odd glance before taking a needle from her nurse, preparing to stick Vulpes in the arm.

"I already dosed him with anesthetic med-x," Boone informed. "You might not wanna do that."

Julie gave him a hesitant look, then placed the syringe on the table and continued working.

"When he wakes up… tell him I went to Vegas," Boone instructed.

Without waiting for a reply, he marched out of the tent without another word.

His walk across Vegas was a long one, and relatively uneventful, as few wastelanders liked to pick a fight with an NCR sniper, even the freeside locals who didn't much care for the NCR. Boone let out a cloud of breath and pocketed his hands, approaching the Strip in the near distance as his thoughts began to weigh on him.

He could've never imagined showing mercy to any Legionary, much less helping one to survive. In fact, Vulpes wasn't just a Legionary—he was one of the most manipulative Legion soldiers in existence, a frumentarius, an ex-spy who did God knows how many horrible actions under the guidance of the red flag.

Still, he couldn't deny what he'd seen. Boone knew for certain that Vulpes was exactly who he said—a Legion defector, someone who chose to walk away from the Legion despite the heavy penalties attached. The Legion sent numerous assassins after him in the short time Boone had known him. It seemed clear that, for all Vulpes's faults, he certainly was no ally of the Legion anymore.

Who knew—maybe even the people who'd made the worst mistakes imaginable could become more than simple pawns in a game of unjust warfare.

Boone himself had, after all. He and his unit slaughtered various innocent people during the tragedy of Bitter Springs—and all because they were told to.

In retrospect, the NCR almost seemed similar to the Legion, at least in this one particular way. Everyone serving under both flags was expected to do whatever they were told without question. The only difference was the penalties for disobeying this rule. The NCR utilized courts and legality to punish their free-acting soldiers—but the Legion simply tortured, killed, and crucified them all. True, both of them expected obedience without question—but the Legion's punishments were far more severe than the NCR's.

"Fuck," Boone murmured to himself. "No wonder I pity the little piece of shit."

As much as he detested the Legion—and as much as he found himself doubting Vulpes's true intentions for the past day or two—he had to admit one thing for sure.

Vulpes must've been damn brave to defy the Legion.

Of all people, he knew full well what horrific consequences would come from such an action—but nevertheless, Vulpes rebelled the war tribe without fear. Perhaps it was due to stupidity in foolhardiness, but it was still impressive nonetheless.

Not to mention, he also chose to fight three frumentarii without Boone's help, despite being wounded and outnumbered. It was Vulpes's way of atoning, in his own words.

Redemption and forgiveness weren't the types of ideas that Boone usually entertained. Most times, everything was clear to him, black and white and easy to understand—the Legion were evil, and everyone else was just trying to survive, simple as that. But now, strangely enough, he found himself thinking in a grayer area, thinking of a Legionary as an actual human being. Granted, it was an ex-Legionary, but still…

He never could've expected to think of any type of Legionary as an equal—and he certainly never thought he'd consider that one might even change their ways. He couldn't know for sure if Vulpes would really choose a decent path, but it was a nice thought regardless. It wasn't often Boone could entertain the idea of a small miracle like that…

He snapped out of his thoughts and pulled out his sack of caps, presenting it to the securitrons for the credit check. Once he was permitted entry, Boone marched onto the strip with pocketed hands and a distant expression, his eyes scanning over every inch of the environment, the streets cleaner than anywhere else in Nevada, the people both happier and far more intoxicated than anywhere else Boone ever visited in the Mojave.

As he walked, Boone glanced at the Lucky 38, considering approaching it and instantly dismissing the idea. He knew nobody was allowed in the 38. Finding this courier, or her companions, would likely take some time—he'd have to wander around the other casinos and wait to run into her. The more he thought it over, the more he realized that he had no clue where to start.

Boone stared at the NCR embassy on the edge of the strip, then glimpsed over at the Tops, sparking an idea. Perhaps if he spoke to the employees of the casinos, he could instruct them to keep an eye out for the courier and her friends.

So, Boone marched into the Tops and pushed the doors open—and instantly, he was greeted by Swank behind the counter.

"He-hey, baby, welcome to the Tops hotel and cas—"

"Save all that," Boone said, holding up a hand. "I just needed to talk to the manager, or… whoever else is in charge here."

Swank nodded and leaned on the counter—and then, another man appeared from behind the gigantic pillar that separated the front counter from the staircase.

Adjusting his hat, Mr. Burke strolled up to Swank and leaned on the counter beside him.

"I may have to leave town soon," Mr. Burke told Swank. "It's a long story, but my friends haven't answered my letter—and frankly, I don't have time to wait for them to. I plan to go find them on my own."

"Oh come_ on_," Swank whined, turning to Mr. Burke and seeming to forget Boone's presence entirely. "I_ need_ you here. You're the new head hancho!"

"Yes—but there's something urgent I need to deal with," Mr. Burke growled in a hushed tone. "And it would help if I had someone here to assist me."

"What's so urgent?"

"I can't tell you—it involves the courier."

"Who, Sandra? Ah, I haven't seen her in forever…"

"Hey," Boone barked loudly, yelling over them and approaching the counter. "You talking about Courier Six?"

Swank and Mr. Burke exchanged faces.

"Who wants to know?" Mr. Burke replied.

"A friend of a friend," Boone replied. "I was traveling with someone who knows her personally… and I was told that she planned to work on improving the state of things. If that's true, then I might offer up my services to help out. Do you know her?"

"I do," Mr. Burke affirmed.

"Can you vouch for her?" Boone asked seriously, placing a hand on the countertop.

Mr. Burke squinted at him. "What do you mean, vouch for her?"

"I mean… do you know her well enough to trust whatever she's doing?" Boone clarified. "Is she actually capable? Does she actually plan to help the state of things, or not? Because if not, I'd rather not waste my time. I can go somewhere else to find productive work. The embassy's right down the road."

Mr. Burke met his serious stare, returning it in full as his memories began rushing back to him.

"You wouldn't believe the things I've seen her do," Mr. Burke said moments later. "Her and her companions. You might even call it a legacy."

Boone narrowed his eyes skeptically. "That sounds like a wasteland messiah myth."

"Well… it certainly is messianic in a way," Mr. Burke smirked. "But it's _hardly_ a myth."

"I'm gonna need an actual straight answer, here," Boone stated.

"All right, my good man. From my own personal experiences to all the stories that have been spreading about her since she left the UltraLuxe—believe me, I have _plenty_ to tell you," Mr. Burke promised. "In fact, you and I may be able to help each other with a little problem in the near future, and we'd all be working toward the same goal."

"I'm listening," Boone said.

Mr. Burke nodded, straightened up, and motioned to the rest of the casino.

"Right this way… we have _much_ to discuss."


	13. Coming Full-Circle

As Sandra slept through the day, she awoke late in the afternoon after another frightful dream, which she failed to remember upon awakening.

Just as she'd been doing for the past day or so, Sandra brushed her hair and quickly headed into the adjacent room, the one containing her desk, her shelf of sentimental items, and all the beds that belonged to her companions. The one nearest the desk belonged to Arcade—and he was sitting upright in bed, covered in two thick blankets and mindlessly flipping through Vegas's limited cable channels on TV. He raised his brows when he spotted Sandra entering the room.

"Oh, hey—have you seen this?" Arcade smirked, munching on a bag of crisps and motioning to the television. "I don't usually care for the more mind-numbing programs, but this Silver Shroud show is surprisingly captivating."

Sandra gulped, unsure of why she felt so worried and alarmed. Arcade seemed perfectly fine; perhaps the feeling of urgency was leftover from whatever dangers had haunted her dream. She sighed and hesitated before responding.

"Ahm… you okay?" Sandra sputtered at a loss.

Arcade blinked. "Yeah, last I checked. Why?"

Sandra shrugged and shifted in her stance. "I don't know…"

"Arcade!" Melody shouted, sprinting into the room with two fresh ice-cold nukacolas. She handed one to him, popped the other open, and hurriedly crawled into bed next to him, grinning eagerly at the TV.

"Did I miss anything?!" she gasped.

"No, no—it just started," Arcade laughed and patted her head. "Picking up from last week, when the Shroud left Grognak to deal with the rogue barbarian gang."

"_Yesss_!" Melody rejoiced, punching the air with delight. "Sandra! Come watch with us! This is my new favorite show!"

"Um… I'll catch it next time, Melody," Sandra replied, offering her a smile. "I was gonna head out tonight. Gotta start getting ready."

"What?" Arcade and Melody both said in unison, their smiles vanishing.

Sandra shook her head. "No—I'm not gonna disappear for another two months. Don't worry. I'm just hittin' the town."

"Sandra," Arcade said seriously. "You remember what we heard about the Omertas, right?"

"Yeah," Sandra nodded. "That's why I'm heading out. I wanna check out the Omertas… they're the last family on the strip that we haven't personally dealt with yet. They're the only ones keeping us here."

"What, you… no," Arcade uttered, shaking his head and tossing his blankets aside. "No, you're not going to Gomorrah alone. It's bad enough when the bouncers call me to drag a drunken enraged Niner out of there… but with you… the Omertas might actually be _after_ you."

"Have you been outside for the past day?" Sandra smirked. "No, of course you haven't… you've been recovering. People are _buzzing_ about us right now. Everyone knows who we are since we fixed the problem at the UltraLuxe. We're like heroes out there. So, with that in mind… this is the best time to investigate a family on the strip. Nobody's gonna want to act against us right now."

Arcade opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated, making a sideways nod. "Well, okay, fair point… but it's still pretty risky. The info we heard suggested that they wanna pull a heist on the 38 remove you from power. That's not something to be taken lightly."

Melody gaped at them both, her expression stricken with fear.

"Oh, hey—Melody, nobody's gonna get inside here," Sandra quickly assured. "Don't worry."

Arcade sighed, patting Melody on the head again before climbing out of bed. He and Sandra stepped out of the room, resuming their conversation in the hallway, where Scar the baby deathclaw was sulking around behind ED-E, gazing up at the round robot with captivation.

"You really wanna go to Gomorrah tonight?" Arcade asked intently. "I'll defer to your judgment, naturally… I just want you to think it through. The UltraLuxe turned out more dangerous than we thought, and Gomorrah is _far_ worse than that place. It's a nest for mob bosses and crime families."

"Yeah… but that's exactly why we need to scope 'em out and figure out how to deal with 'em," Sandra explained. "Yes Man says we have to deal with every single faction in the Mojave, and he gave me the idea of bounty hunting to get that done. That's what I plan to do… but we can't leave the strip until we deal with the last big family in Vegas."

"Then you'll need backup," Arcade determined. "Did you plan on inviting me, or will I have to forcibly invite myself?"

Sandra scoffed out a laugh. Before she could answer, Niner appeared in the doorway opposite them—wearing his snazzy Nine of Spades outfit, his crooked feathered fedora, and a large pair of sunglasses, a large cigar protruding out of the corner of his mouth.

Sandra and Arcade stared at him.

"What?" Niner barked, smirking and holding out his cigar. "Hittin' the town tonight. Gotta look good for the floozies."

"Well, there ya' go," Sandra nodded. "Got my backup now."

"Yes—_both_ of us," Arcade said flatly, jabbing a finger at her. "Let me get dressed, and we'll head out."

As Sandra and Arcade vanished into the bathrooms to change, Niner sat with Melody, sipping on a nuka and watching the Silver Shroud Adventures with her until it was time to leave. After Sandra was dressed in her Six of Diamonds and her lopsided bonnet again, Arcade adjusted his suit and hat, and the three adults said their goodbyes to Melody, ED-E, and Scar before marching out of the suites once more.

The moment they walked outside, the brilliance of Vegas was in perfect glow—as sunset was fading to twilight, and every neon light was dancing brighter than ever possible during the day. The long, unobstructed strip was bustling with the rush of nightlife, and Sandra smiled, seeing numerous heads snap around to ogle her and her companions. Feeling high on cloud nine, she sauntered forward alongside Niner and Arcade, her 45 tucked beneath her breasts again, and the frantic whispers and chatters of gossip ventured across the crowd in waves as the courier and her friends sauntered by.

Just as the three of them approached Gomorrah—Mr. Burke slowly lowered his binoculars.

He stood in his Tops suite, gazing over Vegas with his binoculars with Boone standing closely behind him, both of them wearing serious visages.

"Son of a bitch," Mr. Burke hissed. "She's going to Gomorrah before they even bothered inviting her."

"That's her, huh," Boone remarked, eyeing the enormous window and seeing the head of crimson hair in the distance. "The girl from the capital…"

"And the game-changer of the Mojave," Mr. Burke sighed, now frustrated. "Damn. Sarah and Bryan aren't here yet, and I haven't told any of my coworkers here about the Omerta conspiracy. I don't know if they'll make a move on her tonight or not…"

"Well… I can't speak for them, or even for her," Boone remarked. "But, what I_ do_ know is… if the Omertas end up in control of the Lucky 38, that's gonna paint disaster for everyone in the Mojave. We can't have a crime family running this entire region."

"Indeed, we can't," Mr. Burke muttered. "But my allies aren't here, and my coworkers aren't involved. Just between you and I, I'm not sure what we can do."

Boone squinted thoughtfully at him. "Well, Burke… speaking as a sniper… I say we just follow. Keep an eye on her and her friends, make sure nothing happens."

Mr. Burke nodded mildly, though his expression seemed even more conflicted now. "The Omertas believe I'm in on their plan. If they see me tailing her… and if they suspect I'm protecting her…"

"Then you'll be on their shit list, yeah," Boone nodded, thinking of the disguised Legionaries he'd encountered at Freeside's gate. "But they're the _bad guys_, here. So I say it's work the risk."

Mr. Burke stroked his chin thoughtfully, his mind working up a storm. Then, a perfect conclusion came to him—and he revealed a slow, coy smile.

"You're right… and I think I've got it figured out," Mr. Burke uttered. "If I tell them I'm simply enjoying a night of drinks and exotic dancing… and if I tell them that you're my hired bodyguard… then we'll both be able to hang around in Gomorrah without rousing suspicion. Not to mention, you'll be allowed to carry your gun inside. Business partners with the strip families are usually allowed to have their armed guards accompany them into the casinos."

"Good. Do that, then," Boone said conclusively. "What's your game plan if they actually _do_ act against your little courier friend?"

Mr. Burke grimaced deeply at the window, its glass reflecting all the strip's dancing lights, just as his dark sunglasses were.

"Then I suppose I'll have to blow my cover for her," he resolved, releasing a faint, breathless laugh. "Not in my character, but… I suspect she would for me."

Boone stared at him intensely again. "Everything you told me… she sounds like a goddamn lunatic. Not the bad kind, but still. She sounds kinda reckless for someone who supposedly holds the Mojave's future in her hands."

"Fair… but her companions have a habit of balancing her out," Mr. Burke replied. "She knows that's needed, so… she's found a new family of people to keep her in check. That's how it was before… and how it's become now."

Boone glanced at the city. "I guess we'll see."

"We surely will," Mr. Burke nodded in conclusion, adjusting his hat and spinning on his heel. His dark suit jacket was left unbuttoned as he straightened his tie, and he led Boone out of his suits, the two of them riding the elevator to the bottom floor and heading out the double-doors.

Just when they stepped outside, Mr. Burke gazed into the strip patrons nearest him—and his eyes landed on a familiar figure, making his mouth drift open and his feet slow to a stop.

A woman and a teenager approached him, both of them smiling.

Mr. Burke stared at them in surprise, releasing an astonished laugh and feeling a great rush of relief at the sight of them.

Sarah and Bryan were both wearing ordinary clothes now, no hint of Brotherhood on their attire—Sarah wearing a tight green dress, dark emerald and sparkling, her blonde hair flowing and cascading down her shoulders, contrary to its usual tied-up style. Bryan wore a casual outfit and a leather jacket over it, and behind them stood the Brotherhood girl, Veronica—beaming away, combing her brunet hairs back, and wearing a stylish black dress with velvety red decorated on its seams.

Mr. Burke fell speechless for several seconds, laughing breathlessly again and shaking his head. He felt stunned, almost flabbergasted at the sight of Sarah Lyons—not only having arrived by surprise, but looking breathtaking while doing so.

"God, you…" Mr. Burke breathed, taking a brisk step toward her. "I'm_ so_ glad you're here…"

Sarah traded smirks with Veronica and Bryan.

"Took us forever to figure out your whole ploy, here," Sarah commented, patting Mr. Burke on the shoulder. "But, knowing you… of course you came to the strip and made yourself wealthy and needed. That's you all over."

"I can't… how did… how did you get here so fast?" Mr. Burke uttered in fantastic confusion.

"Your letter got to the 188 the same time we were there having lunch," Sarah shrugged. "Lucky coincidence. And speaking of coincidences—holy_ shit_, how the _hell_ is Sandra here?!"

"So you read the whole letter, then," Mr. Burke smirked. "It was quite a shock for me, too. I've been keeping an eye on her from a distance for the past couple days, but…"

"Why haven't you_ talked_ to her?" Sarah gasped incredibly, inching closer to him. "Do you know how crazy it is that we_ found_ her again? Don't _waste_ that!"

Mr. Burke slowly nodded, Boone giving him a pondering glimpse, Veronica and Bryan pausing to observe all the stands on the side of the strip.

When Mr. Burke couldn't produce an answer, Boone stepped forward and spoke.

"I met someone who knew Sandra," Boone informed. "And he told me… the courier has some heavy memory loss."

Sarah, Bryan, and Mr. Burke all exchanged grave visages.

"She won't remember us," Bryan murmured.

"That's why you haven't talked to her," Sarah sighed.

"No, that… that's not entirely it," Mr. Burke uttered, shaking his head. "That's part of it, but… quite honestly…"

He paused and fidgeted with his sleeve.

Sarah narrowed her eyes at him. "What? Spit it out."

"Well, she… she's started a whole new_ life_ here," Mr. Burke said softly. "If she sees us again, she'll just… she'll be forced to remember all the things she left the capital to forget. I suppose I… I don't want to force her to remember if she doesn't_ want_ to remember."

Sarah and Bryan stared at him in astonishment.

"Are you thinking about someone other than _yourself_?" Sarah laughed. "Not only that, but someone's_ feelings_? Who _are_ you?!"

Mr. Burke let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sinking and his expression seeming to deflate.

"We can help from a distance," he surmised. "We may talk to her, we may not… but the main prerogative right now is protecting her from the Omertas. And, unfortunately, I just saw her walk into Gomorrah moments ago."

"And, if something happens to her—then the Omertas are gonna move in on the Lucky 38," Boone added. "So protecting the courier will also be protecting the rest of the Mojave from falling under the rule of a crime family. It's a top priority right now."

"Well, ho-ly-shit. What're we even _waiting_ for?" Veronica said with a coy smile, cocking her head and waving fancily toward Gomorrah. "Let's go, fam squad. We got a random redhead to protect."

"Damn straight," Boone nodded with a half-smile.

"Fuck yeah," Bryan grinned confidently.

"You remember the deal, now," Sarah smiled at Veronica as they all headed toward Gomorrah. "I'll be your wingwoman, and you buy the drinks."

"You hook me up with someone half as hot as you, and I'll buy you a goddamn liquor store," Veronica giggled.

Bryan made a strange face, glancing between the two women as they walked. "What? Veronica, are you… _what_…?"

"Oh… now, see what you've done?" Mr. Burke uttered, motioning to Bryan. "Now we've gotta explain the whole _thing_ to him."

"Hey—Bryan's almost fifteen," Veronica chided. "He should know about the glorious land of Lebsonia by now."

"Les-boner-_what_?" Bryan exhaled.

"Oh, see… now you've confused him even more," Mr. Burke chuckled, shaking his head.

Boone swallowed a laugh as they all headed toward the red-glowing casino before them.

* * *

Vulpes's eyes fluttered open just when Julie Farkus was withdrawing her arm, still holding the stimpack she'd just injected into him.

Pained and exhausted, his eyes glazed, he glared tiredly up at her, his gaze fixating on the needle and his heart giving a nervous palpitation. Instantly, he tried to sit upright in the hospital bed, inhaling sharply and grasping his stinging side. He scooted away from her, shaking his head and giving her a warning sort of look.

Julie stared at him. "Wow… didn't expect you to wake up so soon. You're a tough one."

Vulpes said nothing, his expression hardened and defensive as he shot another wary glance at the needle in her hands.

Julie glimpsed between him and the empty stimpack, breathing out a laugh. "What, have you… have you never seen a stim before? Got something against chems?"

"Who are you," Vulpes rasped in a weak, hoarse exhalation. "What is…?"

"This is a stimpack, Mr. Patient," Julie explained, tossing the empty syringe aside. "It speeds up the healing process dramatically. No need to get squeamish now. That's the second one I've given you… and you're healing well, all things considered. Almost like your body's completely foreign to the components of a stimpack. The chems wouldn't work so well on you if you were a regular user. I'm guessing you've never had one before…?"

Vulpes gulped roughly, slowly shaking his head.

"Or if you have, you haven't had many," Julie determined, turning and glimpsing outside of the medical tent. "Listen, I've got another patient to check on, so just stay here and rest. I used an adhesive antibiotic instead of stitches, but you should still take it easy."

"No… I… hold on," Vulpes uttered painfully. "How long have I been here? Where is the sniper? With the beret…"

"Oh… your buddy said he's going to Vegas," Julie said with a smile, giving him a nod and marching out of the tent.

Vulpes sat alone on the bed, glaring after her as his mind began to race.

"Damn fool," he swore.

He stopped to think, pondering on his original plan of searching the strip for the courier. At first, he and Boone planned to scope out all the public casinos—but now, Vulpes was thinking more and more of the Lucky 38. He knew nobody was allowed inside the building aside from the courier and her friends—but if Vulpes was considered a friend, then he might be permitted entry.

Inhaling deeply and bracing himself, Vulpes slid out of bed, wincing and swallowing a groan. He examined his bandaged and gauze-wrapped torso, then surveyed his wrapped-up arm. It seemed he was wounded in numerous places now, though the pain seemed to be lessening by the minute. Perhaps the stimpacks did their job…

He slid into the nearest shirt he could find, a white button-up that was—unlike his own—untainted with bloodstains. He then slipped into his dark suit jacket, placed his hat atop his head, and slowly stepped out of the tent, glancing around the Mormon Fort before strolling into Freeside on his own.

Vulpes marched through Freeside as night began to fall, thinking faster than ever. He no longer had any weapons on him—but this certainly wasn't his first visit to Freemont and Vegas. He had preparations stored all over the wasteland, and if he was lucky, his stash in Freeside was still untouched now.

So, he marched off toward the empty train station, where few Freesiders ever hung out, even the NCR soldiers who frequented this territory. He walked alone to the back of the building, clasping his burning side periodically, and he approached the hidden dumpster behind the farthest pile of debris.

Vulpes flipped the lid upward and reached inside, moving a few pieces of garbage before he pulled out a large red duffle bag. He pulled out his stashed belongings—a switchblade, a small silenced pistol, a bottle of water, and two boxes of ammunition for the tiny stowaway weapon. It was a perfect stash for a visit to the strip, complete with his Vegas passport and just enough ammo to utilize his holdout weapon.

After stuffing his belongings away in various parts of his suit, Vulpes stashed the bag again and marched off, occasionally walking with a limp as the blackened bruise on his leg throbbed terribly. But despite all the aches and pains, he crossed Freeside by himself, a long walk before he finally reached the gates of the strip.

A securitron rolled up to him, and Vulpes flashed his passport before flicking his collar and sauntering inside, the gates rolling shut behind him.

As the music dominated Vegas and the dancing neon lights shone from all around, Vulpes made his way past all the drunken Vegas patrons, gazing up at the majesty of the 38 and taking a deep, bracing breath. Preparing for all possibilities, he did something he'd never done in his old spy days—he approached the Lucky 38 directly and unabashedly, not caring who might've been watching him.

He marched with a powerful stride up the illuminated walkway of the 38, forcing himself to walk with a sense of authority, showing no signs of injury. Just as he approached the doors, the securitron guarding them rolled around to face him—and the screen changed, flickering and making a few static noises.

Vulpes narrowed his eyes strangely at the machine.

Seconds later, the militaristic face on the screen vanished, replaced by a cartoony smiling face.

"Hi there!" Yes Man exclaimed. "I presume you're here to see Courier Six?"

Vulpes stared at the machine. "Ah… yes… I am. Was I expected?"

"I'm sorry, but my upgraded programming dictates that I cannot answer any questions unless asked by Sandra or her companions!"

"I am one of her companions," Vulpes stated firmly.

"Really?" Yes Man said enthusiastically. "Well, that changes everything! Yes, you were expected! She inquired about the arrival of a man perfectly fitting your description, and she instructed me to let you inside if you arrived here!"

Vulpes glared into the robot, partially with disbelief. "It's that easy…?"

"Yes! Oh, but you're only permitted entry to the casino and the suites," Yes Man informed. "Sandra strictly stated not to let anyone into the penthouse without her!"

"Er… very well," Vulpes said, slowly inching past the robot. "I'll just… be going inside now."

"You take care!" Yes Man said with a wave.

Vulpes spared the bot a final odd look before pushing the doors open and marching inside.

Inhaling deeply, he paused on the threshold of Vegas's ivory tower, absorbing every untouched inch of the interior and feeling incredibly out of place. Of all the times he'd visited the strip, never did he imagine that he'd be invited into the secretive ivory tower like a guest…

Vulpes gulped and grasped his side for a moment, then adjusted his tie and headed for the elevators. He rode up to the suites, and the express button took him directly to the presidential suites up top. When the elevator doors slid open, he peeked his head out cautiously, glancing around and looking for any hint of movement.

The first thing he noticed was the round floating robot off to the right. ED-E was hovering around and beeping happily, twitching its antennas and twittering at something below.

Scar the deathclaw was repeatedly reaching upward, trying to swipe ED-E out of the air, and ED-E seemed to be having fun teasing the small creature.

Vulpes's eyes narrowed at the baby deathclaw, his mouth drifting agape in bewilderment. "You're _kidding_ me… she_ kept_ the…?"

Scar turned, his soft white eyes locking onto Vulpes. Instantly, Scar let out a squeak and scurried quickly across the floor, approaching Vulpes at an alarming speed.

Vulpes inhaled sharply and tensed up—but the small creature had no intention of attacking. Scar leaped up on his back legs, squeaking lovingly and reaching up toward Vulpes like a toddler who wanted to be held.

Vulpes released a relieved cloud of breath, grimacing and glaring down at the creature. "I see you remember me, then. Where is your master?"

Scar squeaked and squawked at him, patting his front with his short little claws.

"I'm not picking you up," Vulpes stated.

Scar howled in protest, and Vulpes shook his head, taking a step back, but the creature continued scuttling toward him and leaping upward.

"No—stop it,_ stop_ it," Vulpes scolded. "I'm not your _father_, you stupid little—"

Instantly, Vulpes stopped dead, spotting a figure in the doorway down the hallway.

Melody leaned halfway out of the room, gazing down the hall as her eyes widened in horror.

There as a long, horrible tension as the two of them stared into one another.

Then Vulpes took a step toward her, shooing the deathclaw away and eyeing the girl more closely. He inched closer, and Melody whimpered, doubling back and sprinting back into the room in fright.

"Hey—get back here," Vulpes demanded, chasing after her.

He flew into the room and whipped around the corner, seeing that Melody was hunching down behind the farthest bed, trembling and watching him across the room as tears began to form in her eyes.

Vulpes held up a hand, slowly drawing nearer.

Melody cried out in terror, fumbling away as her back smashed into the wall.

"Look at me, girl—_look_ at me," Vulpes insisted. "Do you know who I am?"

Melody cradled herself, shaking all over and swallowing various sobs.

Vulpes sighed. "I know you do. I can see the recognition all over your face."

Melody didn't answer, shaking even harder as Vulpes took another step toward her.

"Look—at—_me_," Vulpes hissed through gritted teeth, giving her a firm, profound stare. "Do I_ look_ like someone who's here to drag a single wayward slave back to the Legion? Do you think the greatest of Caesar's frumentarii would be sent to perform such a lowly task? Surely you know better than that. You've been there long enough to know how it works."

Melody sniffled and shook, embracing her legs viselike as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Vulpes moved steadily closer. "Look at me, girl. I know full well how Antony treated you—but have you ever known_ me_ to harm you?"

Melody whimpered softly—and finally, she managed a trembling shake of the head.

"That's right," Vulpes said flatly. "Because I don't beat slaves simply for bringing us water upon request. I never have. So_ listen_ to me."

At that, Vulpes slowly sank down to one knee, leveling his eyes with hers.

"I don't know how or why she took you from the Fort… and quite frankly, I couldn't care less," Vulpes told her straightly. "I'm not in league with Caesar's Legion anymore. As of now, I have only one thing to attend to. Where is Sandra? Where is Courier Six?"

Melody sniffed and wiped her face several times, remaining silent for nearly a full minute.

"Wh-why do you wanna know?" she squeaked faintly.

"Because I intend to be part of whatever she's planning," Vulpes answered. "I might be able to work with her, if her little friends don't have a heart attack over my arrival…"

Melody gave him a long, uncertain stare. "H-how do I know y-you're not trying to g-get revenge on her…?"

Vulpes squinted at her. "Revenge for what?"

"F-for killing Caesar," Melody murmured weakly. "Like when you came t-to Quarry Junction… and came af… after us…"

Vulpes let out a long, heavy sigh. "That was a long time ago."

"Y-you still did," Melody muttered shakily. "You s-still tried to…"

Vulpes stared into her, searching her expression for some hint of understanding. Then, as his thoughts began to assess themselves, he spoke on.

"Do you remember what your masters once told you?" he asked.

Melody gulped, wiping her eyes again and slowly nodding.

"They had you believing it was a great honor to work for them, didn't they?" Vulpes inquired.

Melody nodded again.

"Well… they did the same thing to us," Vulpes informed. "They all believe that they're doing the right thing in fighting for the honor of Mars… but once you get away… once you see everything from a clearer view… you can see how untrue that is. I bet you've seen enough now to know that the Legion was not the place for you. Have you not?"

Melody coughed and cleared her throat, nodding once more.

"As have I," Vulpes disclosed. "I believed Caesar's killers deserved vengeance, and I believed I would die if I ever lost the Legion… but, as it turned out… _neither_ was true."

Melody gazed into him, scanning every inch of his visage for any sign of deception.

"Look at me, girl," Vulpes said solemnly. "Sandra and I kept one another alive during a time when there was no Legion around us… no republic, no Mojave, no one but she and I. I know things about her that even _she_ doesn't know. I don't expect trust from you, but I_ need_ you to tell me where she is now."

"Y-you _knew_ her?" Melody breathed.

Vulpes nodded.

"Wh-where'd she come from?" Melody asked. "Wh… what do you know about her…?"

Vulpes sank to both knees, leaning on the side of the bed and running a hand down his face.

"Well," he muttered. "When I first chanced upon her, she was traveling from the east… absentminded, delusional… rattled to insanity. I imagine she went through hell in her long travels. She once had a pip-boy, too… a different one than she has now. Her hair was… shorter… and she…"

Vulpes stared off to the side, his expression heavy with recollection.

"She spoke to someone I couldn't see," he murmured thoughtfully. "Someone called Charon."

Melody's brows raised, her eyes suddenly widening, this time with surprise rather than fear.

"That's what it says on her shotgun!" she exclaimed.

Vulpes nodded again. "Yes… she's had that shotgun during all her time and travels."

Melody cautiously leaned forward, her fright now dissipating as she gave Vulpes a surveying once-over. He was gazing off to the side rather intently, his stare profound and distant in a way she never remembered seeing him during his time in the Legion.

Then, something occurred to her, and she gave him a curious stare.

"Did you_ love_ her…?" Melody mumbled.

Vulpes's eyes flickered over to her. He didn't reply right away.

"I've never held faith in such a childish idea," he told her. "But, I suppose… if I believed in such a notion…"

"Oh, no _way_," Melody gasped, hunching closer and studying him almost invasively. "You—_you and her_—?!"

"We're getting off track," Vulpes stated, swatting a hand. "I need to know where she is. She and I have to talk."

"Um… she went to the Gomorrah casino," Melody told him.

Vulpes blinked at her. "For what purpose?"

"I think it's… I think it's something dangerous," Melody pondered. "Sandra and Arcade said that the Omertas were planning to take the Lucky 38 away from her, so…"

Vulpes slowly reared back, a sense of urgency rising up inside him like a growing fire.

"Oh… those damn fools," he hissed. "They went there alone… and they have _no_ idea…"

"N-no idea about what?" Melody uttered.

"The nature of the Gomorrah cesspool," Vulpes stated angrily, coiling his fist tightly shut. "One of my most valued informants works in that establishment, and I know every nook and cranny of that place's wicked operations. The Omertas are the worst reprobates of the profligate world, and it doesn't even_ stop_ with them. Gomorrah also houses the syndicate, and they span _much_ farther than the Omertas. By Mars, they have _no idea_ what they're getting invo… _ahh_…"

Vulpes leaned downward, wincing and grasping his stomach as a shooting pain jolted up and down him.

Melody bit her lip, observing him somberly. "Are you hurt…?"

"No, I… it doesn't matter," Vulpes responded. "I need to find her and stop her from getting involved. Thank you for telling me what you could."

Vulpes took a deep breath and forced himself to his feet, grunting painfully and clasping his side again, his head spinning terribly.

Melody slowly stood upright as well. "You can't go there if you're hurt…"

"I don't have a choice," Vulpes said flatly, adjusting his suit and hat. "Pain is my retribution, child—but it's never once had the power to_ stop_ me."

Melody breathed out a laugh, shaking her head. "You kinda sound like her. All proud and reckless like that…"

"Yes, well… I need to be going now," Vulpes dismissed, turning toward the door and hesitating again, as his pain and lightheadedness refused to leave him be.

"Can't you… can't you at least take some chems, or something?" Melody asked him. "If you're hurting that bad…"

"Chems aren't my way of doing things," Vulpes replied as he marched out of the room. "Now stop following me. I'll be back with your courier soon enough."

"But—wait—wait a sec," Melody insisted, leaping in front of him and blocking his path.

Vulpes swallowed a groan and glared down at her. "Step aside, child."

"No, but… I have an idea," Melody told him, waving loosely between herself, Scar, and ED-E. "Why don't… why don't we all go with you?"

Vulpes's eyes narrowed. "A child, a robot, and a mutant? My skills reside in the areas of avoiding unneeded attention, girl. The last thing I need is to arouse suspicion the moment I walk through the doors."

"I'll be your daughter," Melody proposed, placing a hand on her chest and motioning to the bot and the creature. "Eddie will be my hand-me-down from my dead momma, and Scar will be a service animal for you."

Vulpes stared at her for several long seconds.

"That's very well thought out," he admitted. "You'd make a fine frumentarius."

Melody smirked.

Vulpes scoffed out a laugh, then shook his head. "But, no… taking a child into that cesspool would be dangerous for you and a hindrance for me. No offense to you, girl, but it simply wouldn't work."

"Stop calling me girl," Melody griped, seeming to have lost all her notions of fear now. "You know what my name is!"

Vulpes sighed heavily. "Fine. Melody—you're a liability. So stay here."

"_You're_ a liability," Melody argued. "You're gonna deal with a whole crime family all by yourself when you're already hurt? Do you really think that's gonna work?"

Vulpes opened his mouth to unleash a slew of angry arguments—but then, he suddenly fell silent, recalling his fight outside the Freeside gates and remembering what Boone had said to him shortly beforehand. In that moment, the sniper had warned him not to act on pride, and Vulpes refused his advice. And, if Boone hadn't chosen to get involved, Vulpes likely would've died during that encounter.

A pride for battle was engrained into him—but just as well, it seemed the ways of the people beyond the Legion sometimes valued life over pride. Boone expressed such a value, and now, even the little Legion girl did as well.

In fact, it was a value Courier Six seemed to thrive on. Otherwise, she would've left him to die in Quarry Junction.

Vulpes released a stressed cloud of breath, staring into the girl for a long, silent moment.

True, it would be foolish to take on a dangerous task by himself, especially in his wounded state—but what help could he hope to obtain from a little girl?

"This is no task for a child," Vulpes uttered softly. "Especially a girl."

Melody shot him a challenging look. "Girls can fight. Sandra fights."

Vulpes made a sideways nod. "Yes, but…"

"And I know how to fight, too," Melody added. "I had to fight one of Antony's stinky dogs all by myself."

Vulpes stared at her. "He sicked a hound on you?"

"No—he gave my teddy to his dog," Melody replied. "I had to fight him to get Teddy back."

Then, Melody rolled up the sleeve of her jacket, revealing a deep, crooked scar in her arm, likely a bite mark from one of the Legion's many hounds.

Vulpes gazed into the scar for a moment, then met her eyes again. "A crime family is different from a single dog. It's a bigger fight to endure… and it has_ far_ more negative consequences."

"That's why we bring Eddie and Scar!" Melody proclaimed. "Eddie has his laser, and Scar is_ super_ protective! I just wanna go so I can keep an eye on you!"

Vulpes gave her an odd look.

Melody frowned, then gave him a saddened sort of smile. "If you're really gonna help us, then we have to help you, too. So, like… if you get hurt worse, or something… somebody has to be there to fix you."

"You're a child," Vulpes uttered breathlessly. "What do you know about…?"

"I learned how to make healing powder from Siri at the Fort, remember?" Melody responded. "And Arcade's been teaching me first-aid since I first met him. I know a lot. See, look—Eddie, come here!"

ED-E beeped at her, hovering toward her and lowering itself to her eye level. Melody reached out, popped open ED-E's side compartment, and pulled out a small first-aid kit.

Vulpes stared at them both strangely.

Melody held up the first-aid kit and smirked at him. "Sandra, and Niner, and Arcade—they taught me a_ whole_ lot, _including_ how to be prepared."

Vulpes stared silently into her once again, thoroughly conflicted. He let out a moaning sigh, shaking his head at his feet. "I can't believe I'm even _considering_…"

Melody jumped with joy, squealing and hugging ED-E rather abruptly. "Yesss! I'm going to a casino! My first casino!"

"No—hush," Vulpes demanded, thrusting a finger at her. "It's not a playground—it's a cesspool of absolute debauchery. We're not going there to gamble and joyride. I am on a _mission_ right now. This must be taken _seriously_."

"I know, I know," Melody nodded. "But you gotta let me patch you up if you get hurt more."

"Fine," Vulpes agreed. "But you stay by my side at all times, and you do as I say. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to hide, you hide. And If I tell you to lock yourself in this tower and power on every security feature available in this facility, you will do just that. Do I make myself clear?"

Melody nodded and gave him a salute.

Vulpes scoffed at her. "Don't do that. Don't treat me like a soldier."

"No—you're supposed to be my father," Melody reminded him. "If the casino people ask, tell them my mommy died years ago and you can't find a babysitter for me. Okay?"

"I think I know how to lie," Vulpes grumped sarcastically, pressing the elevator button. "My entire job in the Legion rested upon that skill."

Melody giggled and stepped into the elevator alongside him. ED-E floated inside twittering joyfully, Scar crawling at Vulpes's feet and repeatedly pawing up at him for attention. Just as the elevator doors began to close, Vulpes sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Unbelievable…"

Once they reached the bottom floor, Vulpes winced, straightened up, and marched out, followed by three odd companions as he strolled out of the Lucky 38.

And as the courier's many companions finally encroached on the same destination—inside the Gomorrah casino, upstairs in the off-limits area, Nero marched into Cachino's office mere minutes after the courier's arrival.

Cachino looked up from his clipboard, stopping his writing and narrowing his eyes at Neo.

"The courier just arrived, sir," Nero informed. "Are we still biding our time, or… should we take our shot at her now?"

Cachino glared into him intensely, slowly lowering his pen.

He intertwined his meaty fingers, pressed them to his mouth, and let out a deep sigh.

"Inform Big Sal," Cachino ordered definitively. "And tell Clanden that his birthday dinner will have to be repurposed. That dinner is gonna be our phony welcome wagon for Courier Six instead."

Nero bit his lip and nodded. "Does that mean…?"

"Yeah." Cachino gave him a final decisive nod. "It _all_ goes down tonight."


	14. The Longest Night in Vegas (Part 1)

The room with the stage and dancers was more crowded than Sandra had ever seen it before.

The place was positively packed; the crowd around the stage was shoulder-to-shoulder, and the dancers on stage were wearing flashy colorful showgirl outfits instead of the usual ordinary stripper garments. It seemed there was a full-on show tonight, famous showgirls dancing and singing stylishly as the drunken customers hooted and hollered in delight, multicolored lights moving rhythmically across the scene as Sandra, Niner, and Arcade made themselves comfortable at the bar across from the commotion.

The three of them sat backward in their stools, sipping on their drinks and watching the impressive show from a distance.

"This is weird," Sandra practically yelled into the side of Niner's head. "Why is it so busy tonight, Niner?!"

"It's always like this on Friday," Niner replied coolly, taking a sip of gin. "You'd know that if you was_ here_ for the past two months."

"Well—it's a good show, but we need to be mindful," Arcade reminded them, lifting his glass and tapping on it. "None of us can afford to get wasted tonight. Remember that."

"I _knooow_," Niner whined. "What are you, my dad? Piss off."

Arcade scoffed and rolled his eyes. Sandra laughed at them.

After a bit of time passed, Niner glanced at the double-doors off to his right, feeling allured to the outdoor wing of the casino. He placed his empty glass down, popped his collar, and prepared to walk off.

"Hey—where're you going?" Arcade asked, grabbing his arm. "We need to stay together."

"I'm jus' going to check on something," Niner griped, yanking his arm away. "I'll be back in an hour or two."

"_Niner_," Arcade growled. "We're here for a_ reason_—"

"_I'm_ here for a reason," Niner snapped with an odd sense of seriousness. "Did you ever wonder why I came here every night for the past eight weeks? I got my _own_ shit to deal with."

He stormed off without waiting for a reply, Sandra and Arcade staring after him grimly. Once he was gone, they faced each other.

"What was that about?" Sandra asked, feeling a pinch of concern.

Arcade shrugged. "I have no idea. During all that time you were gone, Niner spent most of his free time here… but I figured he was just getting wasted all the time. I saw a lot of him being smashed firsthand, actually…"

Sandra fell silent, sparing the double-doors another glance and wondering what Niner could've been up to.

And far across the crowd—on the other side of the vast ocean of people—Mr. Burke sat in a large, rounded booth along the side of the wall, Sarah and Bryan seated on either side of him, Boone and Veronica sitting on the edges of the booth. For a while now, they'd been observing Sandra and her friends from afar, and nothing suspicious had occurred as of yet.

"I can't believe the bouncer let you bring a rifle in here," Veronica remarked, pointing at Boone.

"I'm a chairmen's bodyguard," Boone shrugged, nodding at Mr. Burke. "Special perks."

"Wish I had my gun," Bryan pouted. "I feel naked without it…"

"I miss my power fist," Veronica sighed.

"I miss my laser rifle," Sarah agreed. She turned to Mr. Burke, expecting him to comment as well, but his attention was fixed solely on Sandra far across the massive room.

Sarah glanced between the bar and Mr. Burke. "God… you are _so_ transparent."

Mr. Burke blinked, turning and giving her an odd squint. "Beg pardon?"

"Dude—you've been desperately in love with her for _how_ long?" Sarah cackled. "You cross her path again halfway across the world, and you're_ still_ not even talking to her."

"I am not_ in love_ with her," Mr. Burke murmured, eyeing Sandra in the distance again. "I doubt if you'd understand."

Sarah shot him a look. "Oh yeah? Try me."

Mr. Burke glanced at her and sighed deeply. Boone scratched his neck and looked away, growing uncomfortable with the conversation, Bryan and Veronica reacting similarly.

"You wouldn't understand because you've always been _good_," Mr. Burke told her sincerely. "You didn't need anyone to make you question your ways. You didn't need a wanderer to stumble into your life and make you reflect upon everything you believe to be important. But I _did_ need that… and that was_ her_."

Sarah gazed into him profoundly, suddenly lost for words. "Wow, I… I don't know what to say to that…"

"Yes… well… it's not romance. I thought it was once, but it's not," Mr. Burke stated plainly, fixing his tie and narrowing his eyes at the distant courier. "It's just a… fascination. And a debt I owe her."

"Hey… listen," Veronica spoke up suddenly, swiping her combed-over hairs aside and giving Mr. Burke a firm look. "I_ know_ it's not romantic. I can tell."

Mr. Burke gave her a thoughtful stare. "Oh, can you, now?"

"Yeah. I can," Veronica stated with a firm nod. "Because I've _been_ in love before… and if I ever miraculously crossed paths with her again, there's no way in _hell_ I'd be hiding at the corner booth without talking to her."

Mr. Burke stared at her for a moment, then nodded and took a sip from his beverage. "Well, then… there you have it."

"Well'p—if we're gonna talk about all this awkward shit, I might as well make it worse," Bryan laughed, turning to Boone. "What about you, bodyguard guy? You ever been in love before?"

Boone turned and gave him a long, heated glare.

Bryan instantly regretted asking, slowly sinking deeper into the booth's leathery cushions.

"Yeah. Once," Boone grunted, taking a swig from his beer. "She's gone now. End of story."

There was a tense silence following his words.

Then, Bryan turned to Sarah. "Your turn, sis. Ever been in love?"

Sarah gaped at him, then let out a breathless laugh. "You never asked me that before, you nosy little shit."

"I'm asking _now_," Bryan smirked devilishly. "Have you?"

Sarah gulped without answering, shaking her head and resisting the urge to glance over at Mr. Burke. She fell silent and began sipping on her tequila more quickly than she was before.

"Hey… this might be a weird question, but I have to ask," Veronica muttered to Sarah, nodding toward the bar. "You knew Sandra pretty well back in the day… and she's super pretty, in that badass tough-girl kinda way. You think she'd ever swing the way I do…?"

Mr. Burke choked on his drink, sputtering guiness all over the table and coughing between a series of laughs.

Veronica squinted at him. "I'll take that as a no…"

Sarah chuckled and shook her head, and they all returned to their task of observing Sandra from a distance in silence.

As more time passed and nothing suspicious occurred just yet—far across the building at the front of the casino, Vulpes marched inside with Melody, Scar, and ED-E at his wake.

The greeter bouncer instantly shot him a bizarre look.

Vulpes sighed and adjusted his hat, swallowing the urge to wince and strolling forward.

"Uh… sir," the bouncer said. "This isn't really the place for kids. Or… deathclaws."

"Melody is my daughter. Her mother is no longer with us, so she has to stay with me whenever I'm out conducting business," Vulpes explained. "The deathclaw is a trained animal. I'm going blind in my left eye. The animal is my seeing-eye escort, sold to me by the doctors at the Old Mormon Fort. I assure you, he is completely harmless, especially at such a feeble age."

The bouncer slowly nodded, giving ED-E a strange look.

"This was an heirloom left to her by her mother," Vulpes told him, patting ED-E's metal shell. "She doesn't like to go anywhere without it."

"Ah… all right," the bouncer uttered. "That's fine, then. Just lemme search you and you can go about your way."

Vulpes nodded and spread his arms, his silenced pistol tucked in an area no one would find during a pat-down. Once the search was finished, the bouncer nodded and stepped away, motioning for them to go on inside.

When they marched past the front lobby, Vulpes closed his eyes briefly, grabbing his side and quickly releasing it, trying to appear as normal as possible. Melody glanced up at him worriedly.

"You okay…?" she whispered.

"Fine," Vulpes replied with a nod. "Keep moving."

"Where do we go first?"

"I plan to search from the bottom floor up. The bottom floor is a poorer wing for the less-wealthy customers… so you'd better stick close. There will be plenty of drunken reprobates raging about."

"Okay…"

Vulpes moved across the casino with his three followers—and as he did, and as Sandra and the others sat around watching the showgirls in the expensive wing—Niner was by himself outdoors, wandering across the garden and staring into the darkened sky.

He sighed heavily, staring up at the stars, just able to hear the echo of the blaring music inside the building. This garden was where he first met her, but now, the place was completely empty, as all the girls were presumably off-duty…

Niner frowned, sitting at the edge of the pool and staring into the waters glumly. He hadn't told anyone about his endeavors in Gomorrah, but after the way he left things with Sandra and Arcade, he'd likely have to explain the whole story soon.

Moments later, he heard footsteps approaching from behind.

Niner twisted around—and there she stood, the most captivating woman under the thumb of the Omerta family, with sparkling green eyes and the smoothest head of brunet hair he'd ever seen on a human being. He slowly stood, facing her properly and trying to muster up the nerve to speak.

"Niner," Joana said sweetly, wearing a sad smile. "The wiseguys keep kicking you out, and you just_ keep_ coming back…"

Niner smirked at her. "I ain't that easy to beat, babe. You oughta know that by now."

"Oh… I know, honey, I know," Joana said softly. "You're just the sweetest thing…"

"I went out and talked to Carlitos again last night," Niner informed.

Joana's eyes widened. "You did?"

"Yeah, I did… and I got good news and bad news," Niner said, his smile weakening. "It's all set up. We're plannin' the escape tonight, but… I got friends inside right now. We got a whole other conflict going on. I dunno what to do…"

"Your friends… the courier, right?" Joana asked, Niner nodding somberly. "Oh, honey… do you know what Cachino is _planning_? Do you know what they're gonna _do_ to her?"

"I got some idea," Niner grimaced. "But the doc's watching her right now… and I plan to get back to her soon."

Joana stared at him doubtfully. "How are you gonna help me and my girls escape? If you have to watch over the courier…"

"Babe, listen… it's kinda perfect, if you think about it," Niner smirked at her. "You said the wiseguys needed to be distracted, right? Well, now they will be. They're all probably focused on Six right now. Perfect time for you and your girlfriends to slip out."

Joana frowned. "But… doesn't that mean your courier friend is bait for them?"

"You don't know her like I do," Niner replied confidently. "She can handle it."

Joana swallowed. "Well, does… does that mean… right_ now_?"

"Right now," Niner affirmed. "We picked the busiest night of the week for a reason. While Six is in there, we make our leave. Let's go out to the lobby."

"My girls are waiting in the bathroom beside the stage," Joana told him. "I have to stop and get them, and then… we can go."

"Then homefree," Niner nodded. "Let's go."

Joana nodded, fidgeted with her pinkish dress, and placed her stylish black throw-over atop her head, hiding her face from view. Afterward, Niner adjusted his hat and swaggered off with Joana around his arm, marching with a sense of importance once again.

When the two of them walked back inside, Niner and Joana walked past Sandra and Arcade.

Sandra shot Niner a strange look as he passed by.

Niner made a subtle '_shush and stay put_' motion, then marched off with Joana in silence. The two of them vanished into the crowd, then emerged near the bathroom. Joana stepped inside for a moment, then returned seconds later with three other disguised hookers. Afterward, Niner led them all into the main casino wing, all of their hearts pounding anxiously as they slowly walked toward Gomorrah's exit.

Thankfully, none of the Omertas stopped them.

Niner pushed the doors open, leading the ladies outside. They all maintained their nonchalant pace as they approached the strip's gate—and after they reached Freeside, the five of the broke into a run.

"Aaand we're off!" Niner grinned with delight, Joana giggling behind him as they all sprinted into the Freeside slums. "Run, harpies, _ruuuuuuun_!"

All the ladies were laughing with triumph as they skidded to a stop near the corner—and just as Niner had planned, Carlitos was standing at the curb, smiling joyfully the moment he laid eyes on Joana. She dove into his arms, and Carlitos snapped his arms around her so tightly, it seemed as if he'd never let go.

Niner smirked at them, sliding his hands into his pockets and feeling a rush of accomplishment that he certainly wasn't accustomed to.

Carlitos and Joana separated, both of them turning and giving Niner a grateful smile.

"I don't know how to thank you, man," Carlitos admitted.

"Me either," Joana smiled warmly.

"Just go somewhere and be happy," Niner told them firmly. "And never say no to drugs."

They all laughed, turning on their heels and preparing to leave—and just then, four suited men emerged from around the opposite corner.

Niner, Joana, Carlitos, and the girls all froze in their stance.

The four Omertas approached them, the leader brandishing his pistol.

"Well, well, well… Carlitos," the leader snarled. "And the bottom bitch herself. We knew you wouldn't give up on getting her back… but this? God, this is a stupid plan, even for you."

Joana and Carlitos exchanged frightful expressions—and then, with a borrowed nerve of steel, Niner sauntered forward fearlessly, flicking his hat and glaring daggers into the Omerta grunts.

"What in the everlovin' _fuck_ are you doin' here?" Niner growled with a tone of authority that hardly sounded right coming out of him. "Now you've gone and fucked _everything_ up."

The four Omertas traded strange glances.

"And who're you, big guy?" the leader barked.

"Major Tom Young—founder of the Cali Belt Buckles & Accessories Inc," Niner ranted, wondering if he'd even remembered the name his fictional business correctly. "Close personal friend of the fat Italian fucker who signs your checks. I'm movin' these bitches to a secure location—Carlitos came to us and told us about a conspiracy from the White Gloves to recruit a buncha your hoes. So, the boss man told me to take 'em elsewhere for the time being—and,_ if_ you care to know, Carlitos deliverin' this information to us completely absolved his debt to the Omertas. Izzat good enough for you?"

Once again, the four Omertas glimpsed oddly at one another.

"How come I never heard of you before?" the leader asked.

"How come I never met the pope before?" Niner shot back. "We all got our circles, and some are higher than others. You play in your league, and I play in mine. And my league ain't gutter trash like _you_. So, I suggest you go back to your little nine-to-five before all the _important_ Omertas find out that you got in Major Tom Young's way."

The Omertas hesitated, the leader slowly lowering his firearm.

Just when the four of them were preparing to walk away, one of them spoke up.

"Wait," one of the Omertas said to their leader. "Isn't Major Tom Young that wine distillery executive that goes to the UltraLuxe all the time?"

All four of them stopped, slowly turning and fixing their predatory glares onto Niner.

Niner sighed. "Well, shit."

The leader raised his pistol—Niner ducking and hitting the pavement hard. He whipped out his handgun and blasted the leader away—the remaining three lunging at Carlitos—

Carlitos bashed his knuckles into one of their faces—and Niner scrambled to his feet, hammering his trigger relentlessly until the gun would no longer fire.

To all of their great relief, the four Omertas had crumbled to the ground, bleeding out on the damaged Freeside road. There was a long, tense silence, and Niner sighed exasperatedly, turning to Joana and Carlitos for the final time.

"Well… that was fun," Niner exhaled. "You guys better get gone before more of 'em show up."

Joana and Carlitos nodded, Joana giving him a hug and Carlitos giving him a firm handshake. The other girls took turns thanking Niner, and then, Niner stood by and watched as all of them hurried off down the street, vanishing into the night.

Smirking victoriously and releasing a content breath, Niner spun on his heel and hummed Railroad Bill the entire way back to the Gomorrah casino.

By the time Niner returned to the expensive wing and sat at the bar, another showgirls performance had started, and Niner took a nonchalant swig of the drink he'd left on the counter, not seeming to notice the bizarre and questioning looks that Sandra and Arcade were giving him.

Niner glimpsed over at them and laughed, leaning backward against the bar and upturning his beverage. "Ah, long story. I'll tell ya' later."

Just when Niner moved to order another drink, his mouth fell open—as he spotted an Omerta thug approaching the three of them.

"Oooh shit," Niner muttered, sinking down and hiding beneath the rim of his hat. "Be cool."

"Why?" Sandra gasped, smacking his arm. "What did you do?"

"Hey," the Omerta barked, pointing at the three of them. "The boss man wants to see you three. Complementary dinner on the house, courtesy of the Omerta family."

Sandra, Niner, and Arcade swapped befuddled glances.

Far across the room—Mr. Burke and his companions all perked up, watching intently as the Omerta spoke to Sandra and her friends.

"Um… why?" Sandra asked. "Why're we getting a free dinner?"

"A free dinner _and_ free complementary suites for the night," the Omerta corrected, flashing a polite smile, an expression that clearly wasn't a frequent one for him. "Big Sal and Cachino send their regards to their new business partners, heirs of the late Mr. House."

"Erm… will these boss guys be joining us for dinner?" Arcade wondered.

"Absolutely," the Omerta agreed, handing out three keys to each of them. "Here are the keys to your suites, all presidential on the second floor, best rooms in the house. Dinner will be taking place in our private quarters downstairs. You can come down there whenever you like… no rush."

The Omerta gave them a smile and wave, then turned and wandered off.

After he was gone, Sandra and her friends traded bewildered looks again.

"Okay… didn't see this tactic coming," Arcade mumbled, surveying his key. "They're being awfully polite…"

"That's how they _get_ you," Niner grumbled, stuffing his key in his pocket. "Fuckin' Cachino is a ruddy_ monster_, from what I've heard…"

"Sandra, what do you wanna do?" Arcade asked.

Sandra glanced between them, staring down at her key and sighing. "I don't know. I think we should play along for the moment… just to see what they're planning. If it looks bad, we'll back out ASAP."

"That's assuming we can," Arcade said. "But, I suppose we came here to deal with them tonight, so… once more, I'll defer to your judgment."

"Me too," Niner said powerfully. "I wanna be the one to cap Cachino."

"Let's go check out our suites, then go downstairs," Sandra decided.

The three of them stood from their stools, finished off their drinks, and paid their tab. When Sandra walked across the crowd with her friends, Mr. Burke and his companions watched idly by from their booth, Burke's eyes following the head of crimson hair all the way to the exit.

"She's going," Mr. Burke breathed, reaching his feet and bumping the table. "Goddamn her, she's _going_—I have to _stop_ her."

"Burke—_sit down_," Sarah whisper-yelled, yanking on his sleeve and glimpsing around. "Remember—you can't blow your cover here."

"To hell with the _damn cover_—" Mr. Burke griped, then suddenly stopped dead.

He, Sarah, Veronica, and Boone all stared directly ahead of the table, seeing that Cachino and a few of his goons were approaching them. Bryan stifled a gasp, slowly sinking downward and hiding underneath the table, vanishing from sight.

Mr. Burke instantly straightened out, fashioning a witty cover story in his mind just when Cachino stopped at their booth.

"I didn't expect_ you_ here tonight, Burky Burke," Cachino smirked.

"Just a night on the town, Cache," Mr. Burke replied with a convincing smile, nodding between Boone, Veronica, and Sarah. "My bodyguard and I have dates this evening. A fine night for us, indeed. Especially in your illustrious establishment."

"It would appear so," Cachino agreed, his eyes twinkling strangely.

He winked at Veronica, making her repress a shudder.

"Interesting that you'd arrive tonight, of all nights… seeing as how Courier Six decided to arrive tonight, too," Carchino remarked.

Mr. Burke perked his brow. "Did she, now…?"

"Oh yes," Cachino confirmed. "We're holding our special dinner for her this evening. I do hope you plan to join us?"

Bryan remained hidden beneath the table, eavesdropping intently as his heart began to pound.

"I shall if you wish me to," Mr. Burke agreed.

"Absolutely. Let me show you where our private quarters are," Cachino offered, motioning for them to join him. "Dinner won't begin for another hour or two, but I'd like to show you where to go ahead of time."

Boone, Sarah, and Veronica glanced at one another before standing alongside Mr. Burke. They all reluctantly followed Cachino out of the room—and once they were gone, Bryan crawled out from under the table, inhaling a determined breath and setting off to find Sandra with haste.

* * *

Once they reached the bottom floor, Vulpes stopped in one of the isolated narrow halls, leaning into a crevice containing a broom closet and resting his back against the wall. He gnawed his bottom lip, grabbing his side and hating himself for experiencing such a hindering limitation, now of all times…

Melody stared up at him, ED-E and Scar on either side of her.

"I'm just tired," Vulpes exhaled. "Just give me a moment…"

The pain and lightheadedness seemed to be worsening with every passing second, namely because he hadn't allowed himself any rest. Still, now was hardly the time for recovery.

Melody slowly reached out, grabbing at the bottom of his button up.

Vulpes shook his head and pushed her hand away.

"Just let me look," Melody requested. "It might be getting worse…"

"I'm fine," Vulpes told her.

"What if you're not?" Melody asked sadly. "Because if you pass out or something, then you're probably gonna die here… along with me, and Sandra, and everyone else."

Vulpes stared into her, looking and feeling torn. Then, reluctantly, he sighed and rolled up his suit, revealing the numerous gauze-wrapped segments of his wounded torso. The wound on his side seemed to be bleeding through the adhesive antibacterial cream that Julie had applied, a crack of blood oozing out of the glue-like substance and trickling down his hip.

"Holy crap," Melody breathed, examining the fresh wound, as well as all the old scars. "You've been through _hell_…"

Vulpes let out a breath and rested his head backward on the wall, forcing himself to stay as alert as possible despite the fatigue creeping up on him.

Melody sighed and pulled the first-aid kit out of ED-E's compartment, popping it open and gently applying a smear of disinfectant onto Vulpes's wounded side, hoping to cover the area that was bleeding through. To her surprise, Vulpes didn't jerk or twitch once, even after she finished wrapping a small, fresh gauze pad over the bleeding spot.

After she put the first-aid kit away, Vulpes rolled his head and stared down at her tiredly.

"Thank you," he said softly. "You're talented for a child…"

Melody managed a smirk.

"Well… what now?" she asked, peeking out and glancing up and down the hall. "This whole area just looks like a buncha orgy rooms. I doubt she's down here."

"As do I… but there's a bar in the main corridor down here," Vulpes told her, swallowing a groan and straightening up. "We at least need to check there."

Melody nodded, and they all set off down the hallway, venturing through a large room full of pillows before appearing in an open area. The lower-level bar was filled with loud hollering drunks, strippers dancing on platforms, and a rectangular bar in the center, but there was no head of crimson hair anywhere in sight.

However, Vulpes spotted another peculiar sight across the room.

Far across the lower-level bar, Cachino was leading Mr. Burke, Sarah, Veronica, and Boone toward an elegant set of double-doors. Boone peered over his shoulder, meeting eyes with Vulpes across the room.

Vulpes stared at him intensely.

Boone made a subtle motion with his hand, pointing upward at the ceiling. He then faced away and pretended Vulpes wasn't there.

Vulpes took in a breath, making a slow nod and leading his followers back down the hallway from where they came.

After leaving the obnoxious room, Melody spoke up.

"What was that about?" she asked.

"That was a lead, Melody," Vulpes informed, crossing the room of pillows and approaching the elevator once more. "It seems my friend knows where we need to go. Sandra is somewhere upstairs."

And just before they could reach the elevator—someone barreled down the left hall, smashing into Vulpes and making him crumble to the floor.

Melody gasped sharply and covered her mouth. Vulpes hunched crookedly against the wall, horrid pain shooting up and down him as his vision exploded with stars. He sealed his eyes shut, fighting with all his might to remain conscious. ED-E twittered with agitation, Scar squeaking in alarm.

Bryan straightened up, wiping his face and panting, looking alarmed. "Oh, God… I'm sorry!"

"Look what you _did_!" Melody cried, swatting at Vulpes. "He's hurt already, and you just made it_ worse_!"

"I'm sorry!" Bryan exclaimed. "But I'm in a hurry! I need to find someone—bye!"

"Hey—wait!" Melody reached out and yanked him back. "Who're you looking for?!"

"An old friend of mine—a courier," Bryan panted. "I really don't have time to talk—"

"East," Vulpes croaked painfully.

Melody and Bryan both spun around and stared at him.

"An… old… friend from the east," Vulpes groaned through clenched teeth, glaring up at Bryan. "Am I… right?"

Bryan gulped and gave him a suspicious stare. "How'd you…?"

"We're looking for her, too," Melody informed. "She's our friend, and she's in danger here."

"Oh—shit—we're all here for the same thing," Bryan realized. "Okay, okay—lemme think. Okay—first, we need to—"

"We need to fix him first!" Melody cried, motioning to Vulpes again.

"No… I'm fine," Vulpes rasped forcibly, planting a hand on the wall and slowly reaching his feet. "Just don't ram into me anymore."

Bryan frowned. "Sorry…"

"Who are you?" Melody inquired.

"Bryan Wilks," Bryan announced, offering his hand. "You?"

"My name's Melody," Melody replied, returning the handshake. "Do you have any idea where Sandra is now?"

"No… but I saw one of those shady dudes lead my friends down here," Bryan informed her. "Another one of those guys gave Sandra and her friends a bunch of keys, and they…"

"The suites," Vulpes determined, wheeling around and facing the elevator. "She _is_ upstairs. Let's go. Now."

They all stepped into the elevator and rode to the second floor together.

But before the elevator could reach the second floor—Sandra, Arcade, and Niner marched down the stairs, just after checking on their suites. The three of them decided not to linger around the rooms upstairs, just in case the Omertas were planning to ambush them alone in their sleep. So, they all walked down the stairway rather than taking an elevator, chatting with one another as they did.

"Niner… are you gonna explain what the hell you were doing earlier?" Sandra asked as they walked, passing by a large portrait of a mysterious figure in a suit.

Niner slowed to a stop on the stairway's midpoint, pocketing his hands and leaning on the wall. Sandra and Arcade paused in front of him, both of them giving him an expectant look.

"Six… y'know how much it_ sucked_ when you left?" Niner asked, narrowing his eyes at her and wearing another uncharacteristically serious visage.

Sandra said nothing, unsure of how to respond. She glimpsed over, seeing that Arcade was now wearing a deep frown, sliding his hands into his suit pockets and looking away.

In all honesty, she didn't have a spare moment to stop and think of how her disappearance might've affected her friends—after the encounter in Quarry Junction, she'd wandered north, found the Northern Passage, and stumbled into a long series of unpredictable adventures. Between Utah, the Sierra Madre, Big Mountain and the Divide—she hardly had time to stop for a breath, much less assess her thoughts. Truly, she_ did_ need to step away from all the huge things she'd gotten involved with in the Mojave—it did wonders to clear her mind and reset her priorities—but only now did she see that it affected her friends in a different way.

Especially since she left without even a goodbye.

Niner's expression seemed to intensify with perturbation, his eyes locked with hers.

Sandra frowned and bit her lip, an uncomfortable sense of guilt forming a knot in her stomach.

"I ain't your boyfriend—and I ain't your brother," Niner said in a low, soft growl. "I know that. And I know you ain't the type to stay cooped up forever, and neither am I—but you didn't even _tell_ us anything. Y'know how fun it is to just have people disappear outta your life for no reason? I don't need that shit, Six. I've had _more_ than enough of that already."

Sandra gulped and let out a stressed exhalation. "Sorry…"

"No, no… you're _not_ sorry," Niner argued. "You came back all confident, and happy, and with a new pet, and new stuff… I _know_ you ain't sorry for leaving."

"No, I'm not sorry for leaving," Sandra told him. "I'm sorry for hurting you."

Niner grumbled and rolled his eyes.

"Niner—do you know _why_ I had to leave?" Sandra asked, rounding on him and suddenly feeling defensive. "Because I remembered something, and I—"

"Oh fuckin'a, Six—don't play the amnesia card," Niner griped. "You remember everything about the here and now, which means you got _no_ excuse."

"Shut up and let me finish," Sandra snapped irritably. "I still can't remember most of the past—but I did remember one thing. I remembered that I got involved with something big, and half the people around me died because of it. I don't know what it was, or who died, or anything like that—but I _know_ I've done this before, and I didn't wanna put you and Arcade in the ground like I did to whoever I knew back then. _That's_ why I felt like I had to leave. You, and me, and Arcade—we might all die a pointless death in this mess—is that _really_ what you want?"

"Six," Niner rumbled through gritting teeth, slowly grasping his dog tags and holding them upright. "_Mike_ died a pointless death. He was sent to clear out mutants for some shitty little radio station that the NCR wanted to set up, and they didn't even succeed. _That_ was pointless. But _us_—we're actually doing something_ important_ here. I don't think any of us are gonna die—but even if we do, it sure as_ hell_ won't be a pointless-ass death like my brother's was."

Sandra and Niner fumed into one another for a long, tense moment.

Arcade leaned on the wall of the stairway in between the two of them, sighing uncomfortably.

"You know, I… I hate to make this argument worse," Arcade muttered, turning to Sandra. "But I'd have to agree with him on that. Hell… look where we are right now. Look at what we're doing. We're willingly walking into a crime family's trap just to try and put them out of commission. We wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't worthwhile to us… _and_ to you."

"Yeah… I know that," Sandra replied. "I know that _now_. But when I left Quarry Junction, I didn't know _what_ to think—I was scared that I was gonna mess everything up again. I just needed to prove to myself I wouldn't. And after all I've done in the past month or two, I know better now. I know I can… I know _we_ can handle it."

"You still could've told us you were leaving," Niner argued. "How hard would it've been to stop by Sloan and let us know you weren't dead?"

"Where is this _coming_ from?" Sandra asked breathlessly.

"Because when we got back here, I didn't know what the fuck to do anymore," Niner growled. "Me and you were _mates_, Six, and we had a whole _game plan_ here—but then you just up and disappeared for no reason. I get that you were worried or scared, or whatever—but you don't just walk off and leave everybody! That ain't the answer!"

"That's exactly what _you_ did in California!" Sandra snarled in response. "Your dad wandered off, your brother died, and _you bailed_!"

"That's different—I didn't have anybody_ left_," Niner fumed. "But _you did_."

Sandra opened her mouth to retort—and instantly, a sharp pain penetrated her skull as a random memory hit her full force.

For a split second—she could've sworn she was standing in a large, rickety house constructed mostly of metal, an armored vault suit on the wall and a few familiar faces standing before her. A child frowned sadly, a man pleading for her to stay—but she knew she'd walked out the door that day, never to return.

Sandra stopped entirely, reality returning to her as she backed away from Niner. She grasped the railing, slowly sinking downward and sitting on the edge of the stairs, her expression now distant and disturbed. For several tense seconds, she merely sat there, gazing vacantly forward and wondering what she'd done—or rather, why she'd done it.

Whatever happened in the past—she'd chosen to leave it all behind, even though she still had friends around. And here in the Mojave, she'd done just the same thing to Niner and Arcade.

Perhaps the reality of the situation was simpler than she ever considered before.

She ran away the first time—she ran away again here in Nevada—and her own mind was so desperate to run away from her thoughts, it blocked out anything and everything unpleasant. Maybe she simply wasn't capable of coping with the hardship—so, everything inside her was prepared to cut and run at a moment's notice.

Vulpes's words soon came to her, and she remembered everything he said to her that night in Quarry Junction—that she knew everything she needed to know, she simply didn't _know_ she knew, because she didn't_ want_ to. He'd seen it before she ever did, before anyone else could. Sandra had a problem, a bad habit of running away from things—and that problem would have to be nipped in the bud before she could ever begin the long process of reestablishing an independent Mojave.

"War never changes," she murmured thoughtlessly. "So I have to change instead…"

Niner and Arcade stared at her, trading grim expressions with one another. Then, Niner sighed and relaxed his shoulders, wandering over to her and sitting down beside her.

"I ain't mad anymore, but it sucked," Niner told her. "It really sucked for a while, there. That's why I started coming here all the time… drinkin' and gettin' high, and partyin' with the girls outside. But then, I… I met this girl, Joana, and I fuckin' connected with her right off. She already had her heart set one someone else, though… this guy named Carlitos. The Omertas were after him because of a debt he owed, and Joana was trapped here. Her and her girlfriends were kept on med-x and treated like dog shit. Cachino used to… fuck, the things he did to her, I ain't gonna speak of. Anyway, I helped the girls to get outta here. I found that Carlitos bloke, we all met up in Freeside, and they ran for it. That's what I was doin' earlier."

Sandra frowned down at the floor, nodding distractedly and remaining silent.

Niner observed her, patting her on the back. "I've run away from my fair share of shit, too. But it feels good to stick around and do some good instead of running away. You're the one who showed me how to do that. So… when_ you_ decide to run off… it kinda strikes a chord with me. Y'know?"

Sandra sighed and nodded again.

Arcade remained leaning on the wall, watching the two of them somberly.

"I've run from my fair share of things, too," Arcade admitted, his tone darkening. "Sometimes, it makes more sense to leave than it does to stay. But… considering our situation right now… I don't think that's the case for any of us anymore."

"Me neither," Niner nodded with a smirk.

"Me neither," Sandra agreed, glimpsing between them and flashing a broken half-smile.

"We all decided, didn't we?" Arcade smirked at them. "We decided on our new goal, and we're all done running away from things now. _Including_ each other."

"Damn straight," Niner laughed, slapping Sandra's arm. "I need my mates around. You said we were important now, Six. And I'm pretty sure that's true, or we wouldn't be here now."

Sandra made a definitive nod, stood fully upright, and cracked her neck, giving each of them a firm stare.

"No more running… ever again," she said flatly. "We got this."

"We got this," Niner and Arcade agreed.

"Okay—let's go down to the brimstone," Sandra decided. "We can hang around at the bar and scope out where ever this private quarters is. If we get invited into their little welcome dinner, we're just gonna have to wing it from there."

"Oh—before we go to the brimstone, we need to do some illegal shit," Niner grinned. "Pop some locks, rifle through some rooms—we need to find us some weapons. You're the only one with a gun right now, Six—and that ain't enough."

"All right—we'll find the Omertas's private rooms, steal whatever firearms we find, and head down to the brimstone," Arcade surmised. "Sound good?"

Sandra and Niner nodded, and the three of them set off to set their plans further into motion—as were their unbeknown allies, and as were their enemies in the Gomorrah casino.


	15. The Longest Night in Vegas (Part 2)

"Dinner's gonna start soon, so… just be prepared."

Cachino placed a hand on the elegant double-doors, his eyes resting on Mr. Burke's.

"You can hang around down here until dinner… or return to your booth upstairs, doesn't matter to me," Cachino told them. "But Big Sal is expecting to see you, Burky Burke… so don't disappoint."

"Of course," Mr. Burke replied formally, Sarah and Veronica both attempting a polite smile for Cachino, though neither of them completely succeeded.

Cachino gave them all a nod, turned on his heel, and marched away. Mr. Burke and his companions watched until he had vanished into the crowd, then turned to face one another.

"Well… what now?" Veronica uttered.

"Where did Bryan go?" Sarah whisper-yelled.

"Probably upstairs, if he's looking for the courier," Boone stated. "The girl and her friends got hotel suites, and they walked off with the keys. That means they probably went up to the second floor—which is where _we_ need to go now."

"The dinner," Mr. Burke muttered, swatting at the double-doors of the private quarters. "The Omertas are expecting me to be ready to attend."

"Burke—no offense, but your cover isn't top priority right now," Boone said firmly, turning and preparing to march off. "In fact—if we play our cards right, we might be able to eliminate all the Omerta top dogs in one go tonight. We're just gonna need an extra pair of hands."

"_What_?" Mr. Burke exhaled, he and the girls following Boone across the room. "Who on earth would take on such a suicidal task?"

Boone let slip a coy smirk. "You mean besides me? Don't worry, I know a guy. And he made it here right on time."

The four of them left the lower-level brimstone bar, strolling down a hallway and isolating themselves in the elevator. As the elevator carried them upward, Mr. Burke, Sarah, and Veronica all gave Boone a questioning look.

"The guy refuses to go down in a fight," Boone explained. "Trust me, he's as resilient as I am. We go grab him, find you guys some weapons, and prepare to ambush the private quarters."

"It won't be long before Sandra's in there," Mr. Burke thought aloud.

"Yeah—and that's good," Boone told him. "If everything you told me about her is true, then I seriously doubt she'd walk in here without at least one holdout weapon stashed on her. We need all the numbers we can get if we're gonna ambush the Omertas all at once, and she might jump in and help us. The Omertas will be either armed or guarded. Maybe both."

"What if the courier doesn't decide to fight with us in the moment?" Veronica asked.

"She will," Mr. Burke and Sarah both stated firmly.

"And even if she doesn't—between us and Vex, we can make it work if we time it all just right," Boone informed.

"Who's Vex?" Veronica wondered.

"That's just what I call him," Boone muttered. "I can't pronounce his real name…"

The elevator doors slid open, and they all marched out, strolling down the hallways of the second floor and peeking into all the unlocked hotel suites along the way. After a while of searching, Boone rounded the corner, spotting a familiar figure down the hall.

Vulpes, Bryan, and Melody were hunched at the far corner, all of them taking turns trying to pick the lock on the corner presidential suite. ED-E beeped loudly when it noticed the presence of a new arrival, Scar perking up and squeaking up at Vulpes.

Vulpes spun around, seeing Boone, Sarah, Veronica, and Mr. Burke approaching from the opposite hall.

"Jesus… _there_ you are," Sarah gasped with relief, yanking Bryan into a quick hug, then slapping him on the head. "Don't scare me like that."

"_Oww_," Bryan whined, wincing and rubbing his hairs.

Vulpes straightened up, facing Boone and meeting his eyes.

"Haven't found her yet?" Boone asked.

"No," Vulpes replied disdainfully. "We've scoured all the open rooms—now we're trying the locked ones."

"Well… we have another plan of action now," Mr. Burke told him.

Vulpes squinted at Mr. Burke. "And you are?"

"Mutual friend of the courier's," Mr. Burke replied with a slight bow. "We all have the same goal in mind, I assure you."

"Bryan!" Melody gasped happily, tugging on Bryan's sleeve and pushing the door of the presidential suite open. "Look! I got it unlocked!"

Everyone exchanged faces, then slowly inched into the suite one by one. After ED-E and Scar entered the room at their heels, Boone closed the door and locked it behind him, hoping to give them all some privacy while they spoke.

Vulpes marched in between the large TV and the master bed, peering into the bathroom before opening several of the closets, pausing once and grasping his side. Sarah and Veronica decided to join him—both of the girls liberating a couple of large knives from the kitchen and tucking them uncomfortably into their dresses. Once everyone was done searching around, they all grouped up again, glancing at one another and waiting for someone to speak.

"You said you had another plan of action," Vulpes started, eyeing them all intently. "Let's hear it. We're short on time."

"We're gonna wait until the dinner starts, and we're gonna ambush all the Omerta top dogs at once," Boone revealed. "But, since we only have one gun between all of us, we're gonna need the element of surprise."

"You have two firearms between all of us," Vulpes corrected, sliding out his silenced pistol. "But that still won't be enough for all the Omertas and their armed guards. Not to mention, even if we _do_ succeed in killing them all, the rest of the Omertas in the facility will attack on sight the moment we leave the room."

"Um…" Melody murmured sheepishly, reaching into her jacket. "Three…"

Everyone stared at her. Vulpes squinted down at her oddly.

"Three what?" Vulpes asked.

"Three… guns," Melody replied with a childlike smile, pulling out one of Sandra's old pistols.

Vulpes's eyes shifted between her face and the pistol in her hand.

Melody giggled. "Well, they didn't search me… since I'm a little kid…"

"Nice," Bryan said proudly, patting her on the back. "Good work."

Melody's smile grew, her cheeks flushing.

"Would you mind if I used that, young lady?" Mr. Burke asked politely.

Melody handed him the pistol, and Mr. Burke swiftly slid it into the back of his suit.

"Well… all the men have guns now," Veronica chided. "That's great for _you_, but… me and Sarah are stuck with steak knives."

"This isn't a battle—it's an ambush," Boone announced. "Remember that. We're catching a number of armed men by surprise—and if you do your job right, you'll have their guns in your hands before they know what hit 'em."

"I have two plans in mind to deal with the low-ranking Omerta grunts all over the casino," Mr. Burke told everyone. "Before the ambush, we pull the fire alarm, which will hopefully take the crowd away from the bar in the lower brimstone—including the Omerta bouncers. And after the ambush, if we're forced to explain ourselves, we will tell the remaining Omertas that the top dogs pulled their guns on us, and we were simply acting on self-defense. I don't know if that'll be good enough for them, but it's far better than telling them the truth."

"That's the best we've got," Sarah nodded.

"You're all overlooking another problem," Vulpes stated gravely. "One you're probably not even aware of."

Everyone's eyes landed on him, waiting for him to explain.

Vulpes sighed stressfully and spoke on. "The clerk woman behind the counter in the front lobby—the one who works alongside the bouncer all day—she's an informant for the republic, and the republic has a mole leaking her information to the Legion."

"_What_?" Boone griped angrily, but Vulpes waved him down and continued.

"The point is—I know _all_ about this place," Vulpes stated. "And the Omertas aren't the only ones here. They're in charge of Gomorrah, but there's another crime outfit operating from the shadows of this establishment. They have the third floor all to themselves. The syndicate."

They all fell deathly silent, trading severe expressions with one another.

Vulpes took a deep breath, folded his arms, and carried on. "The good news is, the syndicate is _not_ a sister society to the Omertas. The two of them are merely business partners, which means the syndicate may not hold a grudge for what we do to the Omertas tonight. But the bad news is—if they _do_ decide to hold a grudge, then all of us will probably have a price on our heads from a widely-spread crime outfit that spans all the way to New Reno. You all need to be well aware of that—and decide right now if that danger is worth the risk of our next action."

"Hmm." Mr. Burke stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I really don't think they'll hold a grudge against us, quite honestly."

At that, all of them turned and stared at him questioningly.

"Well…" Mr. Burke lowered his hand, nodding sideways. "If it was me… if I was a crooked crime lord, and if I was sharing an establishment with another crime family… quite frankly, I would be _delighted_ if they all bit the dust at once. That would leave me with their money and their business all to myself."

"Oooh… that's a good point," Veronica nodded, jabbing a finger at him. "The syndicate would pretty much inherit Gomorrah if the Omertas disappeared."

"So they probably won't be mad at us for killing the Omertas," Sarah murmured. "Still, leaving another crime family in power… that's not good…"

"It's our best option," Boone determined. "Between the syndicate and the Omertas—only one of them is targeting the courier and trying to take over the Mojave. We need to eliminate the worse of the two evils right now."

"And if the syndicate becomes a problem later, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Mr. Burke disclosed.

"That's it, then," Vulpes concluded. "We're ready to go."

"Um." Sarah slowly raised her hand. "I'm not. No offense, but I'm really not a melee person. Veronica's a melee master, but I don't think I can pull of an ambush with nothing but a steak knife."

There was a pause. Vulpes then sighed, spun his pistol around, and handed it to Sarah.

"Oh… really?" Sarah uttered, hesitantly reaching for the gun. "Are you sure?"

Vulpes nodded.

"Vex," Boone said seriously, narrowing his eyes at him. "Are you really good for going melee right now?"

Vulpes didn't reply right away. Boone and Melody were the only people in the room who knew just how badly he was injured—and now, the girl and the sniper were both giving him a long, uncertain stare.

"Absolutely," Vulpes said flatly. "Just give me your blade, and you can use my gun. We all need to utilize our own personal skillsets if we're going to succeed."

Sarah took the pistol and stuffed it away, pulling the large knife from her dress and handing it off to Vulpes. After stashing the blade in his suit, they all met eyes, feeling a sense of finality as well as an oncoming wave of determination.

Boone and Vulpes looked to one another.

"I say we run a couple of quick drills right now," Boone suggested. "Then move in on the Omertas downstairs."

Vulpes took in a heavy breath, rolled his neck, and gave a powerful nod.

All of the unlikely companions took several stances and traded various tid-bits of advice as they rehearsed their soon-to-come attack. By the time they were finished, all of them felt a rush of confidence and adrenaline, vowing to eliminate the great danger to the Mojave before this long night's end.

* * *

Not even a full minute after Mr. Burke and his group left the lower brimstone—Sandra and her friends arrived downstairs, crossing the obnoxious crowd and approaching the rectangular bar in the center. She, Niner, and Arcade sat at the bar, ordering a quick drink and watching as a male stripper danced his heart out on one of the platforms. Sandra and Niner both snickered when they noticed Arcade's lingering stare on the performer.

Arcade noticed their sniggers, then quickly averted his eyes and shook his head, retreating into his drink. "Oh, shut up."

Sandra and Niner laughed at him.

"Well… I'm locked and loaded," Sandra whispered to her friends, patting under her chest.

"I'd like to say the same, but I'm the only one here who's gunless now," Niner grumped.

Arcade took another sip of his drink. During their time sneaking around the Omertas's private rooms, they only found one pistol, and Niner decided to give it to Arcade rather than keeping it for himself.

"You offered," Arcade reminded him. "I didn't mind letting you hold onto it."

"Yeah, but… no offense, Doc, but you need a gun more than I do. I trust myself in a fist fight way more than I'd trust you in one," Niner cackled.

Arcade opened his mouth to argue, then looked away, sighing and making a halfhearted nod. "Well, yeah, okay… you're not wrong…"

"Oh shit, heads up," Niner uttered, straightening up in his stool and spotting a few suited Omertas heading their way.

Sandra, Niner, and Arcade all braced themselves for the finale of the evening, their hearts beginning to pound as Cachino, Nero, and Clanden all surrounded them at the bar.

"Your party has begun, my dear," Cachino said kindly, patting Sandra on the back and nodding to the decorative double-doors in the corner of the giant room. "Would you care to join us? My superior can't wait to meet you."

"Oh, cool… can't wait to meet him, either," Sandra smiled and nodded, leaping from her seat alongside her friends. "What's for dinner?"

"The finest Brahmin Wellington in Vegas," Cachino smirked. "As well as a few nice amenities for sides. I'm sure you'll all enjoy it."

"Mmm," Nero mumbled, smiling coyly at Sandra and slicking back his smooth sandy hairs. He scanned her up and down, leaning a bit too close. "I know what I want for desert."

Sandra laughed it off, marching past him and feeling almost nauseated all the sudden. She, Niner, and Arcade followed the three Omertas across the room, the journey to the double-doors feeling like one of the longest walks of their life, almost as if they expected never to walk out again. The three of them traded a subtle glance before marching into the Omertas's private quarters, Cachino pulling the doors shut behind them.

This room was easily the nicest, cleanest, and most expensive room of the Gomorrah casino—it even put the dining area of the UltraLuxe to shame. Before Sandra was a dining table, coated in a white cloth and complete with several heavenly-scented dishes of food, a set of candles in the center and a crystal chandelier hanging elegantly from the ceiling above. The walls were covered with paintings of several Omerta family members—and in both far corners of the room stood two armed guards, a couple of Omerta grunts with assault rifles. In between the two guards at the head of the table, a large, smirking man sat before them all, intertwining his fingers and glimpsing upward from beneath the rim of his stylish fedora. He opened his arms, smiled wider, and gave Courier Six a welcoming nod.

"And here you are, at last," Big Sal greeted. "A New Vegas legend… heir of the Lucky 38. Our new business partner. Welcome, welcome. Make yourselves comfortable."

Sandra nodded politely, pulling out a chair and sitting at the head of the table opposite the Omerta boss. Niner and Arcade sat on each side of her, Clanden and Nero plopping down near Cachino in the middle of the table. For a moment, everything was calm and silent despite the tension looming over Sandra and her friends, the Omerta family casually passing around a large bottle of red wine and filling each of their glasses. When the bottle reached Niner, he grinned and began to upturn it, Arcade whisper-yelling at him and shaking his head. Niner sighed, poured his glass full, and passed the bottle on. After the wine was served, everyone at the table began passing around the food next—placing helpings of Brahmin Wellington and miniature calzones on each of their plates. Everyone filled their plates and began to eat, and Sandra didn't take a single sip or bite until she saw all the Omertas eating and drinking the same food and wine without hesitation. Deeming the dinner safe, she drank her whole glass of wine in a few gulps, then took a bite of the Brahmin Wellington, cooked to a tender perfection and melting savoringly in her mouth. It seemed the Omertas could afford the best of the best…

"I appreciate the welcome," Sandra spoke up, feeling as if the silence had lingered for too long.

"Oh, no… no problem," Big Sal mumbled, swallowing a mouthful and dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "Gotta welcome our new partner into the Vegas circle, now don't we?"

Sandra smiled at him, refilling her wine glass. Arcade ate slowly and cautiously while Niner did just the opposite. If not for Big Sal's ravenous appetite, Niner's savage manner of eating might've been embarrassing.

"So… now… I'm curious," Big Sal started, pushing his now empty plate away and sliding his fingers together thoughtfully. "Forgive me for prying, but I'm very genuinely curious. What circumstances landed you as Mr. House's heir?"

Sandra slowly lowered her fork, her heart jumping, her expression unreadable. She met the mobster's eyes from across the table, maintaining an unwavering composure.

"I was the courier carrying his platinum chip," Sandra told him. "When we reached the 38… I started working for him. He ended up trusting me. That's all."

"Really," Big Sal murmured interestingly, gliding his finger along the rim of his wine glass. "Interesting that he passed away so shortly after bringing an outsider inside."

"That's_ why_ he brought an outsider inside," Sandra lied cleverly, taking another nonchalant sip of wine. "He was sick, and he knew he was gonna die soon… so, he decided to name an heir. But he had to get to know me first. Build a foundation of trust, and all that."

"Ah, I see… makes much more sense now," Big Sal nodded, his eyes shifting between Niner and Arcade. "And, forgive my intrusion, but… what purpose do these two serve to you?"

Niner blinked and perked up, a trickle of grease oozing down his chin as he swallowed another huge mouthful. Arcade simply pretended not to have heard anything.

"My advisor and my bodyguard," Sandra informed, motioning to each of them. "They're just as important to the operation as I am."

Big Sal slowly nodded, falling momentarily silent.

"_Jesus_, dude," Nero griped, snatching the steak sauce away from Cachino. "Cachino, you fat fuck—save some for the rest of us."

Upon hearing the name Cachino, Niner slowly stopped chewing, his eyes sparkling an angry emerald. He turned his head, eyeing Cachino down the table and fuming in silence.

Sandra noticed Niner's furious glare, then quickly spoke on. "So… how is this gonna work, exactly? The partnership between the Vegas families, I mean. How did it work between you and Mr. House?"

Big Sal leaned back in his chair, cupping his hands over his stomach and giving her a curious stare. "I would've thought that Mr. House would've given you that information… if he actually _intended_ for you to take over."

Sandra swallowed, feeling a spark of nervousness as she read over Big Sal's ominous expression. It seemed this man was as intelligent as he was hungry—he was onto her, almost as if he could read her mind through mere eye contact.

"He told me bits and pieces," Sandra fibbed. "But, between all the jobs he had me do… I didn't have time to have a full sit-down with him before he passed."

"Mhm." Big Sal nodded mildly, again falling quiet for a few seconds. "You know, Courier… Sandra… we've heard some _amazing_ things about you. I'd like to separate fact from fiction here, if you don't mind."

Sandra nodded. "Okay. What have you heard?"

"Well… mixed things," Big Sal said. "The latest rumors involve you and your little… militia… breaking up a secret society of cannibals in the UltraLuxe."

"Oh yeah. I can vouch for that," Arcade nodded, raising a hand.

"Yeah… a few of the elites in the White Glove Society were kidnapping people and locking them up in a deep freeze," Sandra explained. "I only found out because they tried to kidnap my advisor, here. Big mistake."

"Very heroic of you," Big Sal smirked. "However… an older rumor has me a bit more concerned. A rumor that you may have had a hand in the assassination of the Tops's highest chairman. A man by the name of Benny. Now, I don't know the full story, or even if the rumors are true… but if you're the type of person who goes around killing the chairmen of the casinos, you can understand why that would concern _me_, of all people."

"I didn't kill Benny," Sandra stated. "Someone else did."

"Oh?" Big Sal perked his brow at her. "Who?"

Sandra fell silent, gulping and inhaling heavily.

"I don't know," she lied again. "I did have a personal beef with him, but… when I tracked him to his suite, he was already dead when I got there. I don't know who killed him."

"That's oddly convenient," Big Sal observed.

"Probably looks that way, yeah," Sandra admitted. "But I'm telling the truth."

"Really." Big Sal leaned forward, hunching on the table and staring into her more fixedly. "Because… I've had a dark suspicion on my mind ever since the new chairmen took over the Tops Hotel & Casino, and I_ really_ hope I'm wrong."

"Shoot," Sandra said vacantly.

"For the first time since the founding of the families… an outsider became the top dog at the one of our casinos," Big Sal told her. "An outsider who's been negotiating between the casinos, and he seems to be running be Tops well. Now, call me paranoid, but… it seems oddly convenient that you walked into Benny's suite, Benny miraculously dropped dead, and suddenly, some random outsider was allowed to take over. It almost looks as if you organized a takeover of the Tops, landing one of your friends in charge. Organizing such a thing would certainly aid you in taking control of Vegas."

"Well… I can assure you, that's _not_ the case," Sandra said, this time completely truthfully. "I don't even know who's running the Tops now. I thought Swank was."

"Swank is co-managing the Tops Hotel & Casino alongside an up-and-coming outsider… man by the name of Mr. Burke," Big Sal stated. "Are you telling me you don't _know_ this Mr. Burke?"

Sandra stared at him emptily, showing no reaction whatsoever—but strangely enough, the name Mr. Burke seemed to set off an alarm in her mind, resulting in yet another penetrating headache. Nevertheless, she merely shrugged and shook her head.

"No," She answered flatly. "I don't."

Big Sal stared at her for nearly a full minute. Then, he relaxed, nodding and helping himself to another small calzone. "Well… good. I've been highly suspicious of this Mr. Burke from the get-go. But, you must understand… it's highly unusual for an outsider to take control of the casinos here. And now… we have an outsider running the Tops _and_ an outsider running the Lucky 38. It's all just a little strange to me."

Sandra forgot to reply, staring down at her plate as her mind unwittingly began to wander. She couldn't know why—but the word Burke seemed to be seeping into her mind like water to a sponge now. Suddenly, she found herself thinking of a rink-dink town she never remembered before, a megaton bomb resting in the center, a man with sunglasses soliciting her in the corner of the bar…

The same face stared at her many weeks later, his malicious expression now gone, replaced with one of downtrodden dismay and uttering a soft, saddened plea.

_You can't go out alone again. Please…_

Sandra inhaled sharply, snapping back into reality and quickly refilling her wine glass.

Arcade squinted at her, reading her expression and recognizing yet another one of her brief and random flashbacks. He took another bite of food, not daring to speak on the matter.

"Sandra," Big Sal said, licking his fingers and observing her closely again. "Who do you know in the Mojave?"

Sandra slowly looked up, meeting his eyes and feeling a powerful wave of urgency, though she wasn't sure why.

"I don't know what you mean," she uttered.

"I mean… considering all I've heard, you seem to be more of an outsider than anybody," Big Sal remarked. "And yet, somehow… you've rallied everyone behind you. You became a hero at the UltraLuxe, you obtained Mr. House's trust, you inherited the Lucky 38, and you've got the entire city of New Vegas backing you now. It seems to me that you have a natural knack for fashioning people into weapons at your disposal… and it just strikes me as curious. All these people supporting you, all these people backing you… and you haven't been here for a _fraction_ of the time_ we_ have. Unless you have allies pulling the strings from behind the scenes… I cannot _fathom_ how you've accomplished so much in so little time."

Sandra gazed across the table, her expression stoic, his words sinking deeply into her.

_Fashioning people into weapons?_

Truly, she _did_ have a knack for it, more than she even knew—and in ways she rarely saw, her allies most assuredly _were_ pulling the strings in her favor. In fact, they were all doing so right now.

But as Sandra sat before the Omerta family, she had no way of knowing such a thing—from the instances in her past to the events of her present, she knew nothing of all the occurrences that proved Big Sal's observation correct.

Yet still—her past and her memories completely lost from her—as she sat across from the crime lord, somehow, she knew for certain that he was absolutely right. Somehow, she had no doubt in her mind of how many people had fought and sacrificed for her in the past, and how many more would be expected to in the future. It might've been unfair, or even tragic, but Sandra wore a determined visage now, resolving that none of the hang-ups mattered anymore.

Because this time, she wouldn't make the mistake of running away, and all the people fighting under the new cause would never fight in vain again.

So, Sandra offered him an unfazed, whimsical smirk, raising her glass as if toasting to his observance. "That's where I shine, Mr. Omerta… and I think you'll find it's a _lot_ better to be my weapon than it is to be my enemy."

Niner and Arcade both raised their brows at her—and the other Omertas all turned their heads, staring at her as if she'd just signed her own death certificate.

Sandra simply chuckled, sipping her wine and feeling utterly fearless in a way she hadn't felt since the final showdown for Project Purity.

Big Sal glared across the table at her for several long, tense seconds, his smile fading away, replaced by a deeply-etched frown.

"I think we've entertained the notion of civility for long enough, now," Big Sal snarled. "I intend to put the Lucky 38 under _real_ management, and it would behoove you to tell me _exactly_ what I need to know to do so, Courier."

"Oh… would it, now?" Sandra cackled, cocking her head and slinging her bangs aside. "Sure. You want a gold toilet too?"

Cachino slammed his hands to the table angrily, shooting up to his feet and approaching Sandra with his stained steak knife at hand.

Niner leaped up and whipped out his butterfly knife, blocking his path and glaring heatedly into Cachino's beady eyes.

"I wouldn't try, big man," Niner rumbled furiously. "Back off."

Niner and Cachino shared along, tense stare as they held one another at knifepoint, everyone else watching in anxious awe.

Then, Cachino's eyes narrowed at Niner. "I know you. You're the little shit that kept causing trouble between me and my girls."

"Ah yeah?" Niner shot back challengingly. "I can cause more trouble than that—why don't you tell your boss man here about all your side business? Stealing from your family and selling shit off behind their backs—yeah, Joana had a_ lot_ to say about that, you sick abusive fuckface."

Cachino's eyes widened—he quickly laughed and shook his head, facing Big Sal. "Oh, he's so full of shit—don't listen to him. He's lying through his teeth!"

"_Enough_," Big Sal hissed, planting a fist to the table and making Nero and Clanden both jump. "I'll deal with you later, Cachino—all of you, seize Courier Six and her companions right _now_."

Sandra didn't move from her chair, leaning back and giving Big Sal a long, searing glare. Her eyes ignited, illuminating a fiery blue much like they once did long ago, almost as if a demon inside had awoken from a long, four-year slumber.

"You don't scare me," she glowered in a faint, wicked tone as the Omertas slowly rose from their chairs. "You're just a weak little puissant. You steal and connive from your tower because you're too much of a coward for the real world. You haven't been through a_ fraction_ of what I have. You are _nothing_ to me, Sal. _I've forgotten more than you'll ever know_."

And just as the words escaped her mouth and the Omertas began to surround her—the lights flickered off, shrouding them all in darkness.

Niner took the chance to lunge at Cachino—Arcade grabbing Sandra by the arm and forcibly yanking her under the table as the guards raised their guns and peered around—

Suddenly, the fire alarm began wailing all throughout the Gomorrah casino—everyone in the brimstone and everyone upstairs began yelling and glancing around frantically, and all the staff began escorting people outside in a hurry.

As Niner stabbed Cachino ruthlessly in the darkened room—the brimstone bar began to empty, people flooding out all the doorways and hallways.

Mr. Burke, Boone, and Vulpes led the charge—all of them advancing on the double-doors in the corner—Boone kicking the door open with all his might.

It began—gunshots broke out up and down the entire room, muzzle flashes illuminating the darkness in brief spurs as the deafening noises rattled the atmosphere.

Sandra and Arcade met eyes underneath the table—both of them whipping out their pistols and leaning outward. They opened fire in the general direction of the Omerta guards—Niner and Veronica diving over the table and wrestling Clanden to the ground—both of them shoving blades into him and making him unleash a bloodcurdling scream. Sarah soon joined them, planting several rounds into Clanden's head and instantly silencing him.

Melody tried to run into the room as well—Bryan yanking her back and shaking his head.

Scar and ED-E entered the room and attacked—ED-E's laser blasting a red light across the darkness and burning a perfect hole in one of the guards' chests. Scar sank his teeth into the ankle of the other guard—making him scream in pain—and suddenly, Sandra and Arcade knew exactly where to aim. They both shot the second guard down instantly as Nero pulled out his pistol—but Boone and Mr. Burke both shot the man in the head before he could fire.

Just then—Sandra aimed toward the head of the table and hammered the trigger—but her gun was now empty. Swearing under her breath, she leaped out from under the table and charged toward Big Sal fearlessly, Arcade making a grab for her and missing—

And just as the gunshots vanished—the lights powered back on, Sandra standing directly in front of Big Sal, everyone else watching with rapt anticipation—Big Sal grimacing nastily as he pressed his pistol to her jaw—Sandra reared back and prepared to—

She froze and took in a sharp gasp.

Someone grabbed Big Sal from behind—jamming a huge blade into the side of his skull in a single, powerful thrust.

The many companions of the courier stood by and watched from across the now destroyed room, Big Sal gaping and sputtering as his eyes tore open, a trickle of blood oozing from the side of his head and pouring steadily down his neck.

Vulpes's teeth were clenched, his visage warped with fury as he ripped the blade from the man's skull—splattering the far wall with blood as the large mobster crumbled to the floor at their feet.

A deeply tense silence fell over them all, Sandra and Vulpes inhaling several rapid breaths, standing before one another at the head of the table and—at long last—meeting eyes once again.

Mr. Burke helped Sarah to her feet, both of them gazing into Sandra across the room. Veronica and Boone straightened up and traded glances, Arcade and Niner doing the same as ED-E and Scar regrouped with everyone near the broken double-doors. For seconds that seemed to last for years, they all merely stood there, watching as Sandra and Vulpes's eyes bled into one another.

This moment seemed to last for an eternity—and as it did, Mr. Burke nodded to himself, resolving something he didn't bother acknowledging aloud. He made a subtle nod at Boone, Sarah, and Veronica, motioning for them to quietly back out of the room.

Mr. Burke, Sarah, Veronica, and Boone all slipped out of the room, entering the now empty brimstone and regrouping beside Bryan and Melody.

"What're we doing?" Sarah panted, swiping her messy blonde bangs out of her eyes.

Mr. Burke glimpsed at the doorway, sighing heavily and adjusting his collar. "It's not time for her to know yet."

"_What_?" Sarah gasped. "After _all we just_—"

"Sarah," Mr. Burke said in a soft, firm voice, gently taking her by the hands. "If she can go on for a while longer without remembering what happened to Charon and her father… then I _want_ her to. Certainly, we shouldn't remind her of that now. It's kinder that way."

Sarah gulped, gazing into him with a conflicted visage, his thumbs lightly stroking along her soft, pale skin. At last, she released a sigh and gave him a tired nod.

"You guys are just gonna leave…?" Melody murmured.

"Seeya later," Bryan said, scooping her into a quick hug and making her jump. "We'll see you again, I swear."

"Burke," Boone uttered. "You sure?"

"Yes… for now," Mr. Burke concluded. "Let's go."

All of them marched off and left the lower brimstone, leaving Melody alone outside of the Omertas's private quarters—where Sandra and Vulpes were still entranced in a long, deep stare.

Arcade and Niner glanced at one another, both of their expressions riddled with anxiety.

Vulpes let out a massive cloud of breath, thoroughly pained and exhausted as he continued to stare into the courier before him, feeling as if all the hardship was now—somehow—worth all the trouble that had led him here.

And for Sandra, as she stood before the ex-frumentarius and read his every detail—it seemed as if the ghost of her past wasn't quite through with her yet tonight, because now, her head was positively splitting, burning with pain as the memory of the dog-headed Legionary finally—and permanently—returned to her in full.

And as the wild images of the far-gone past rushed through her mind all at once—the shock of it rattled her to her very core, and suddenly, Sandra felt faint, the room spinning around her as her consciousness abandoned her at once.

Vulpes barely managed to catch her before she could hit the bloody floor.


	16. Then and There

The long, grand journey of the lone wanderer began with a simple cry from a friend.

From the moment Amata shook her awake, Sandra embarked on a journey she could've scantly anticipated—following her father across the desolate wasteland and meeting countless new faces, friends and enemies alike. But the dangers of it all shocked her to her soul, and the fear never dissipated until she met the fateful red ghoul in the corner of the Ninth Circle. From then on, the dangerous travels became fun adventures, and the challenges seemed more like a long, fun game to play. Smiling childishly through each and every endeavor across the Capital Wasteland, Sandra thought it would never end—until the battle for Project Purity came, and she watched her father die before her very eyes, witnessing Charon's horrific death shortly thereafter. It broke her in a way that couldn't be repaired, and despite Mr. Burke's pleas for her to stay, she simply couldn't—after the long game had finally come to an end, she marched out of the Capital Wasteland alone, absorbing a grave, hard lesson as she did.

War never changes—so she'd have to change instead.

And change she most assuredly did.

Sandra couldn't have known how long she walked, or even where she was going. Her first dangerous encounters involved bugs and creatures, which she killed with ease—it wasn't until she came under fire from raiders when she nearly died on the road. But thankfully, a passing caravan happened upon her, tending to her wounds and carrying her along for the ride. The caravan happened to be traveling west—and so, Sandra chose to do the same. After her wounds healed and she went her own way, she continued west, the sun seeming brighter and the rads seeming lesser with each passing day. She developed a routine of riding with caravans, working as a gun for hire in exchange for transportation. It wasn't until she reached the outskirts of Denver when her luck finally ran out.

Amidst an area ravaged by raiders and Legion, Sandra found herself wandering alone for several days—or even weeks, she couldn't know. Time passed in a blur as the gnawing emptiness of her stomach soon became a dull void, her mind falling blank as the shock of starvation worked to erase her thoughts and awareness. Yet still, she pressed on—despite facing a yao guai and nearly being mauled to death, carrying numerous injuries as well as a slow-growing insanity spawned from hunger—the wanderer simply continued to wander.

By the time she reached the outskirts of Denver, her mind was far gone from her, her leg bleeding for a reason she couldn't remember, her pip-boy 3000 cracked down the screen, powered off and no longer functioning. Nevertheless, as she staggered up the hill and gazed upon the apocalyptic city of Denver, she smirked, patting her pip-boy and glancing over to the side.

"Charon… look," she smiled mindlessly, swatting loosely at the city. "The map says its… ooo, it's_ Oasis_! Ha! I _told_ ya' it was real! Where's the water…?"

The spot beside her was vacant, as it had been for a long while. Yet still, Sandra could've sworn Charon was standing just beside her as always, crossing his arms over his leather armor and wearing his usual grumpy expression.

Then, Sandra's dreary gaze wandered downward, landing on a small campfire just down the hill. Several people were gathered around the campfire, a few tents set up as one of the strangers hovered at the edge of their hillside, watching the city closely through binoculars.

"_Food_!" Sandra beamed crookedly, nearly losing her balance and thrusting a finger down at the campsite. "Thrash… _sick 'em_! Ha, I'm just kidding, don't… _whoa_—!"

Her foot slipped—and Sandra fell down the hill, tumbling and fumbling awkwardly until she landed painfully at the edge of the campsite.

All the Denver townspeople spun around, eyeing Sandra and shooting several bizarre looks at her. A few of them raised their guns, Sandra staggering to her feet and laughing stupidly as she combed her crimson hairs back.

"Oh—no, Charon!" she gasped suddenly, reaching over and appearing to restrain an invisible man. "Don't shoot them!"

The Denver townspeople exchanged baffled glances with one another.

Sandra lowered her hands, instantly forgetting about her imaginary companion as a heavenly scent crawled up her nose. She meandered forward, following her nose to the campfire, where a rotisserie was spinning a huge chunk of meat over the fire, cooking a thick helping of Brahmin meat to perfection.

"Uh-uh, no," a skinny man barked, stepping forward and thrusting his rifle at her. "That's _our_ food. Go on somewhere. You ain't welcome here."

"Easy, now, Rickey," a humongous burly man said, approaching the skinny man named Rickey and gently lowering his rifle. "This girl's just lost and hungry. Ain't you, girlie?"

Sandra frowned and nodded pitifully. "We haven't eaten in… ahm… I forget how long…"

The burly man approached, offering her his large, meaty hand. "My name's Cliff, girlie. Nice to meetcha. Who're you?"

"Oh, ah…" Sandra swayed in her stance, flicking her hairs aside and returning his handshake. "My name's… Sandra… I think. And this is Char…"

She turned and glimpsed around, only just realizing that her friends weren't there.

"Oh," she sighed. "Never mind…"

"Cliff, make her go away!" Rickey snarled. "She's gonna blow our damn cover, here!"

Sandra gulped and glanced around dazedly, seeing numerous guns, duffle bags, and even a loaded fat man sitting all around the campsite, many of the strangers grasping their guns tightly and looking like they were prepared for a fight.

"What're you guys doing up here…?" Sandra mumbled.

"Well… ordinarily, we live up there," Cliff explained, pointing to the distant buildings of Denver. "The street's overrun with crazy animals half the time, so we all live up top. But we're hunkerin' down here for the time being… since we're being invaded by—"

"Cliff!" Rickey hissed.

"Rickey—I'm gonna shove my boot up your ass if you don't shut your face," Cliff griped in response. "This girl is just a random harmless traveler. She ain't a threat to us, and she certainly ain't tied to the Legion."

"The who wha?" Sandra uttered thoughtlessly.

"The Legion," Cliff repeated. "They're invading our city right now… tryin' to pacify it. But we evacuated the women and kids, and the rest of us are waitin' here for a chance to ambush 'em."

"Oooh," Sandra grinned and nodded. "Cool…"

"You're welcome to stick around and have dinner with us… so long as you don't cause a ruckus up here," Cliff offered, motioning to the logs around the fire. "We're tryin' to keep a low profile up here, y'know. Thankfully, they can't see the fire from the streets down below, so we can still cook somthin' to eat…"

Sandra nodded again and smiled at him, wandering over to the logs and plopping down on the closest one. The men around her continued to give her wary glances, but she didn't notice; Sandra spent nearly a full minute staring into the sizzling Brahmin, tempted to reach into the flames and risk third-degree burns just for a single, savory taste.

Cliff sat beside her, and Sandra's gaze ventured off to the side, eyeing all of the townspeople's belongings and wondering just how much food and water they had between them. God, what a goldmine…

"Oh shit," the man with binoculars gasped, turning and waving at Cliff frantically. "They're here._ They're here_!"

"What—_already_?" Cliff yelled in alarm, leaping upward and staring over the hill. "They can't be. We set up a barricade—and set traps—they _can't_ be."

"They must've been tipped off that we knew," Rickey growled, pulling the lever of his rifle back. "Get up! Let's go! Move, move, _move_!"

Suddenly, the numerous men leaped to their feet brandishing their guns, rushing down the hill in formation just as they'd planned to do. Cliff hesitated, turning to Sandra and gesturing for her to stay put.

"Stay up here and stay out of sight, girlie," Cliff advised. "Y'hear?"

Sandra nodded quietly, and Cliff grabbed his shotgun before marching off with his people.

Once the campsite was cleared out, Sandra sat alone, simply sighing, gazing into the Brahmin meat and desperately praying for it to cook faster.

Then, a familiar, dreadful ambiance caught her ear.

_The sounds of warfare._

Sandra's heart jolted painfully—and a million frightful instincts fought to take over her.

Somehow, she found herself standing without forethought, wandering over to the side of the hill and gazing upon the city of Denver from up high.

And there before her, a city of fire met her eyes—a vast, endless ocean of crimson-clad soldiers marching the streets of Dog City Denver, some of them setting fire to everything in their path while others tore the rabid dogs apart with machetes and rippers. Far down the distant main road, between the raging fires and the various hound slaughters a dog-headed man led the charge, jutting his hand outward and calling out for all his followers to hear.

"PACIFY IT ALL!" Vulpes ordered amidst the roaring of rippers and the howling of hounds. "BURN IT TO THE GROUND—KILL ALL WHO RESIST AND CRUCIFY THE REST! ONWARD, BY THE GLORY OF MARS—ONWARD!"

The Legion obeyed—and as the fires grew and began to engulf the city, Cliff and his men sprang out from behind the nearest rocks and trees, opening fire on the Legion with haste.

Gunshots penetrated the air as Legionaries began to fall—some returning fire while others ducked for cover, a few charging with melee weapons as the Denver townspeople slowly moved in closer, beginning to encircle the Legion at the edge of the main road.

And just as it came to be—the civilians clashing with the tribe—the sounds of warfare suddenly felt too familiar to endure.

Sandra gazed upon the fires and bloodshed in horror, her mouth drifting agape as her broken mind fought to make sense of the chaos—but adrenaline kicked in, as did the fear spawned from the terrors in the Capital Wasteland—and now, as she stood over the city and watched the hell unfold, she could've sworn it was the main road leading between Project Purity and the Citadel, a place ravaged with Enclave, with laser fire and power armor—explosions and bullets, a horrific burning in her wrist as she nearly met her death—

"No no no…" Sandra stuttered, shaking her head and stumbling away. "Not again…"

Vulpes suddenly realized that he and his Legion were becoming surrounded—he motioned to his nearest followers, wordlessly ordering their next move before Vulpes himself darted off the street at top speed. His followers began to spread apart—encroaching on the Denver attackers from numerous sides while Vulpes climbed up a nearby hill, pausing briefly to observe the war from a perfect vantage point.

"Heheheheh…" Vulpes rasped with a cold smirk, wiping his face and glaring downward through his darkened goggles.

Sandra backed away farther, staring into the dog-headed stranger from behind and feeling as if she was utterly doomed—she glanced around frantically, and then, her eyes landed on the very weapon that had saved her from the Enclave the first time.

Bracing herself, Sandra found a sudden nerve—grabbing the fat man, perching it on her shoulder, and approaching the edge of the hill with a brisk stride.

Vulpes whipped around, only just noticing her presence—his smile vanishing and his heart plummeting into the pit of his stomach.

"Don't you dare—_don't you dare_!" Vulpes yelled, but it was too late.

"_Not again_!" Sandra glowered, firing the fat man and sending a mini-nuke soaring through the air before her.

Sandra and Vulpes watched from up high as the small a-bomb landed in the heart of the warfare down below—a wicked explosion blasting from the core of the battle, ripping bodies apart and spreading the fires to every visible inch of the city. The ground shook as the Legion and the townspeople died a horrendous death at once, a massive mushroom cloud reaching into the sky in the wake of the sudden devastation.

The wind kicked up suddenly—as the aftershock was traveling up the hill at a rapid pace.

Sandra dropped the fat man and glanced over at the stranger beside her—and just before the explosion caught up with them, she reached out, her pip-boy shielding the man's head just before both of them were thrown off their feet—landing several yards away and fumbling down the hillside afar.

The pip-boy shattered into thousands of pieces—ripping off her arm and vanishing from her person. Sandra couldn't have noticed—she hit the ground hard somewhere far from the city and the campsite, lying crookedly in the grass under the night sky, the dog-headed man sprawled overtop of her.

Vulpes grinded his teeth, slowly hunching upright and glaring down at the girl beneath him, his goggles now hanging off the side of his head. His piercing blue eyes read over the half-conscious girl, examining her as if he'd never seen anything quite like her before.

"You… little… _lunatic_," he grunted.

He inhaled several rushed breaths, his eyes traveling downward and fixating on her right arm. The device she wore on her arm was now gone, presumably destroyed. If she hadn't reached out to him in that moment, his own skull might've suffered the same fate.

Vulpes huffed angrily, standing and cracking his neck. He marched back up the hill, crossing the empty campsite and surveying the decimated scene below, seeing no movement whatsoever apart from the still-crackling fires that now ravaged Dog City Denver.

"Damn," Vulpes exhaled, frowning heavily and ripping the broken goggles from his head.

His entire Legion patrol was gone in one fell swoop—and now, with all the Legion's Brahmin and wagons destroyed as well, he was stranded alone in a strange land, no transportation and no allies nearby. He couldn't have known just how long he fumed at the broken city, his mind racing, wondering what he could hope to do now.

Then, he heard a shuffle of movement behind him.

Vulpes jerked around quickly, but nobody was approaching him. Instead, the red-haired stranger was hunching in the middle of the campsite, the fire having been extinguished by the sudden burst of wind. Sandra reached out and tore off a fresh, moist chunk of Brahmin meat from the half-broken rotisserie, taking a huge bite and beaming with pleasure as she did.

Vulpes stared at her strangely, opening his mouth to speak, but he scoffed and shook his head, as no words came to him. He spared a few more minutes to glare into the dead city with folded arms and a deeply perturbed expression.

Sandra couldn't have been bothered to care; she had no capacity for remorse, no care for the kind stranger named Cliff or any of his followers, nor the Legion strangers she had murdered. Her mind was an absolute blank now, free of all moral weights and all notions of regret. The only thing that mattered now was that she had survived—once more, she remained alive in the wake of warefare, and she now had a mouthful of delicious food as her reward.

Eventually, Vulpes tore his gaze from the burning city, marching into the campsite and sinking down to one knee, leveling his eyes with hers.

Sandra didn't notice. She was far too occupied with peeling hunks of meat from the Brahmin corpse and snacking on it joyfully.

"Not a care in the world," Vulpes murmured, eyeing her closely. "After what you just did…"

Sandra blinked, glimpsing up and only just noticing him knelt in front of her.

"Oh, sorry… y'want some?" she asked childishly, smiling and offering him a chunk of meat.

Vulpes narrowed his eyes oddly at her. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Sandra slowly lowered her hand, her smile fading. "What? What did I do?"

"_What did you_—?" Vulpes started, pressing a fist to his mouth and swallowing a long slew of curses. "You—you just slaughtered everyone. _Everyone_ down there, enemies and allies alike. Do you not _care_?"

"No," Sandra replied blankly. "Those people weren't my friends. None of 'em were."

Vulpes stared into her in utter bewilderment for a moment.

"I should kill you," he hissed.

Then, it seemed as if every cloud of insanity momentarily left her being—her icy blue eyes flickered up from her food, and all the sudden, there was no trace of confusion or childishness amidst her severe visage.

"Go ahead and try," Sandra glowered in an entirely different voice. "Bigger badder armies than you _have_ tried."

Vulpes and Sandra locked eyes. During this moment, it would've been impossible to tell which of their crystalline stares was fiercer.

"You're not lying," Vulpes determined, reading every inch of her expression.

"Nope," Sandra replied, then looked down and returned to her meal.

Vulpes slowly sank back, sitting on the ground and watching as she ate her dinner. Sandra continued enjoying her meal as if she didn't care about his presence at all.

"Fascinating," Vulpes murmured under his breath.

"Who?" Sandra mumbled, swallowing a mouthful. "Ehem—sorry—whaddid you say?"

Vulpes shot her another peculiar look. "You're very strange."

"You're wearing a freaking dog's head," Sandra snarked in response. "_You're_ fuckin' strange."

Vulpes scoffed out a breathless noise that might've been a laugh.

As Sandra continued to eat, Vulpes glimpsed around, absorbing their environment and seeing numerous duffel bags and firearms scattered about. He then looked back to Sandra, flashing a sly half-smile. It would be a hard task for him to take on, heading all the way back to the Legion's main encampment on foot with no transportation and no allies by his side—but perhaps if he could use this girl's ruthless instincts to his advantage, it would make the travel ahead much easier.

So, rather than showing any anger or hostility, he spoke in a calm, friendly manner.

"Who are you?" Vulpes asked. "If you're not a Denver homebody, why are you here?"

"My name's Sandra," she replied. "I think…"

Vulpes blinked. "You_ think_?"

"I'm just a drifter," Sandra shrugged, grabbing a huge hunk of meat and holding it like a large sandwich. "Who're you?"

"Vulpes Inculta… of Caesar's Legion," Vulpes answered. "Where do you plan to go?"

Sandra shrugged again, taking another bite.

"You have no destination in mind?" Vulpes inquired. "None whatsoever?"

"No," Sandra replied carelessly. "Just going west."

"Really." Vulpes leaned on one leg, eyeing her thoughtfully. "So am I."

Sandra stopped chewing, slowly raising her head. Then, she looked to the side and spoke to someone Vulpes couldn't see.

"Should we let him come with us?" Sandra asked the nonexistent Charon, who of course, didn't answer her.

Vulpes straightened up, giving her an investigative once-over. "You've gone mad."

"What?" Sandra uttered, turning back to Vulpes.

"Who are you talking to?"

"My friend, Charon."

"There's nobody there."

"Yeah there is, look…" Sandra turned to the side again, this time realizing that the space beside her was empty.

She let out a deep sigh, frowning and shaking her head.

"I forget sometimes," she breathed. "He's dead, and I forget sometimes…"

"Well, then." Vulpes flashed another sly smirk. "I suppose there's nobody to object to us traveling together, is there?"

"No… I guess not," Sandra mumbled sadly.

Vulpes maintained his evil smile, taking a chunk of meat for himself and munching on it.

The two of them ate in silence for a while until their stomachs were full.

Then, the shotgun strapped around Sandra's torso swung around when she stood. She grabbed the gun and held it upright—Vulpes staring at her and instantly tensing up, bracing himself for an altercation.

But Sandra had no interest in fighting or opening fire. She merely stared down at the inscription on the shotgun in silence, rereading Charon's name over and over and wondering why it was becoming so very hard to remember him clearly. His appearance was slowly fading from her awareness, even when she envisioned him beside her—his death often vanished from her memory, and so did her father's. Many times during her travels, she thought she was venturing across the Capital wastes, traveling with Charon in search of James, her wayward dad. But reality always returned to her, and every time it did, she'd be forced to accept the horrible truth of her life—that she was completely alone now. And with every time this terrible realization returned to her again, her past slipped further and further away. It was as if her mind was purposefully torturing her, repeatedly fooling her into believing nothing had changed when—in reality—everything had.

She simply couldn't bear it anymore.

Sandra sighed glumly, letting the shotgun dangle from its strap as she crawled into the nearest sleeping bag.

Vulpes watched her without saying a word until she drifted off to sleep.

On the night of their first meeting, neither of them knew what this chance encounter would pave for their futures years down the road—this night started a long series of days and nights together, traveling and scavenging food, trading off the supplies they'd taken from the campsite in exchange for food and water from every traveler they came across. Vulpes dressed in a leisure suit he'd bartered for, placing a hat on his head as he traveled in disguise, and Sandra periodically raised her arm in order to use her pip-boy, repeatedly forgetting that it was no longer there.

The two of them didn't speak much at first, aside from Sandra's occasional curious question about the Legion, or Vulpes scolding her for attempting to eat something that wasn't food.

But as the days passed and as they followed the route toward the Mojave—Vulpes using his memory and his sense of direction best he could—the two of them talked more, and both of them shot down any creatures that dared approach them, making good distance in good time and helping to protect one another. Vulpes knew he'd made the right decision in using this girl; it seemed far more practical and effective than traveling alone.

Many days and nights after their first meeting, after the weather was steadily growing colder outside, Sandra and Vulpes found themselves wandering down an isolated back road, surrounded by trees and fields in every direction. There was no shelter anywhere in sight, and both of them shivered as they walked, their breaths visible in the icy air as a spot of rain fell upon Sandra's forehead.

Nightfall was drawing near, and storm clouds had gathered overhead. Sandra wiped the raindrop off and glanced upward, walking and balancing on an old log like a child at play. She suddenly stopped, realizing what the oncoming storm meant—the two of them would likely be soaked and frozen to the bone soon.

"Aw man," Sandra pouted, leaping off the log and resuming her pace beside Vulpes. "Hey, we gotta find somewhere to hunker down soon."

"I'm aware," Vulpes replied tonelessly, striding forward without looking at her.

Sandra scanned him up and down as she walked, squinting at him curiously.

"What's your name mean?" Sandra inquired.

Vulpes turned and shot her an odd look. "What?"

"Vulpes—what does that mean?" Sandra elaborated.

"It means fox in Latin," he told her.

Sandra beamed suddenly, her eyes lighting up. "_Foxxy_!"

"Don't you _dare_ call me that," Vulpes chided.

"Nope—it's too late. You're Foxxy now," Sandra giggled. "Do you know any more Latin?"

"I know all there_ is_ to know of Latin," Vulpes stated. "Stop pestering me."

"Don't be a grumpy-ass," Sandra laughed. "Teach me something."

Vulpes groaned out a sigh, tossing his head back and massaging his temples. "Shut _up_…"

"Teach me something Latin or I'll scream in your face," Sandra threatened.

Vulpes glared at her as they walked. After a moment of thought, he sighed and spoke again.

"Fortis fortuna adevat," Vulpes said smoothly. "Fortune favors the bold."

"Oh… that's awesome," Sandra smiled. "Tell me more."

"For Mars's sake…"

"Come on, we got nothing better to do. Teach me more Latin."

"_Fine_."

As they continued to walk, a steady sprinkle of rainfall began. Vulpes and Sandra chatted about various phrases in Latin for a while, until the rainfall began to thicken, and the two of them couldn't ignore it any longer.

"Foxxy—look," Sandra said, stepping off the side of the road and pointing at a rusty old cargo van sitting in the tall grass.

"I _told_ you not to call me…" Vulpes trailed off, spotting the van and nodding. "Oh... good eye. Let's go. Hurry."

The two of them broke into a jog, racing through the tall grass as the rainfall became a pummeling downpour. Sandra ripped the back doors open, and the two of them crawled into the smelly van from the rear, both of them relieved to see that there was plenty of room inside. Each of them yanked the doors shut, shielding themselves from the rain as the storm pelted against the van's metal exterior.

They sat across from one another, shivering and cradling themselves in the freezing air.

"Congelatio," Sandra uttered through chattering teeth.

Vulpes stared at her, slowly nodding. "Yes… congelatio, indeed."

They went quiet, Vulpes surveying his bow soaked jacket. Sandra peeled off her bag and unraveled the sleeping bag from inside, unzipping it completely and lying across the van's dusty floor. She draped the thick, damp sleeping bag over herself like a blanket, glancing up at Vulpes and opening the opposite side, offering for him to join.

Vulpes stared at her. "I'm fine."

"Oh, bullshit," Sandra griped. "Don't act like we've never done this before."

"I'm fairly sure we _haven't_."

"Just get under here. It's freezing."

"Fine, fine…"

Vulpes sighed with disdain, removing his hat and crawling beneath the makeshift blanket beside her. Sandra curled up on her side, Vulpes lying on his back, the two of them listening as the rain hammered against the outside of the van.

Sandra scooted closer to him, pressing her forehead to his arm and clasping her eyes shut, savoring his close-by warmth. Then, as she found herself reliving a familiar sense of comfort, she suddenly realized that she and Vulpes _hadn't_ done this before.

The last time this happened was in the Capital Wasteland, when Sandra and her companions sought shelter from a storm inside an overturned barn tower. Deja-vu crept up on her as the memory did the same, and she remembered lying with Charon, the two of them embracing one another throughout the entirety of a cold storm.

Her thoughts drifted away when she felt Vulpes shiver.

Sandra reached out, draping an arm around him and lying over his whole left side.

Vulpes's eyes ventured down to her, eyeing her strangely, but he didn't move or pull away. His arm slid around her and decided to stay put.

The two of them merely held one another for a while, basking in the warmth and comfort of their temporary shelter.

After a while, Sandra tucked the makeshift blanket more firmly around Vulpes's opposite side, sealing in as much warmth as possible. She then rested her head on the bridge between his arm and chest, a cozy little nook where she felt at ease enough to drift to sleep.

"I wish you didn't have to leave," she breathed in a soft, wispy murmur.

Vulpes narrowed his eyes down at her again, then returned his glare to the ceiling, losing himself to a deep thought. He was silent for several minutes before he bothered to reply.

"I have to return to my people," he uttered. "But, you… may be able to join me there."

Sandra blinked sleepily. "Yeah…?"

"Yes… there is one way," Vulpes mumbled with a long, heavy sigh. "Women are destined to be wives and laborors in Caesar's Legion… but if you belonged to _me_, then you'd be well-off forever."

Sandra pondered on this, her mind an absolute fog, any sense of logic completely absent from her. All she cared about were the simplest of needs—to eat when hungry, drink when thirsty, sleep when tired, and to stay by the side of the Fox of the Legion forever. It fell all too familiar, but this was no delusion of insanity; her travels with Vulpes were so very similar to her travels with Charon, and now, the happiness she felt back then finally seemed to be returning to her for _real_. The deepest, most desperate desires of her heart compelled her to stay by his side no matter what. It didn't matter what the Legion's practices were, how merciless they might've been or how women might've been mere property to them.

Nothing felt more right than being by the side of Vulpes Inculta.

Sandra raised her head, preparing to ask him more questions, but she instantly stopped, seeing that Vulpes had fallen asleep.

So, deciding to let him rest, she nestled beside him and drifted into a slumber as well.

As the storm raged on and as the night passed them by, Sandra didn't awaken until the sunlight was bleeding into the van's windows—the air was still chilly, but no longer freezing, and the rain had stopped completely.

Smiling with relief, Sandra sat upright and turned to Vulpes, but her smile quickly dwindled away. Vulpes's skin had gone sickly pale, sweat spotting his forehead as he lie asleep, his mouth slightly agape and an uncomfortable expression strewn across his slumbering visage.

Sandra placed her hand to his forehead, feeling an alarming burst of heat meet her knuckles.

"Ah… hell," she sighed, pulling up her bag and digging through it.

After finding her half-bottle of cough syrup—one of her leftover items from the loot at the Denver campsite—she scooted across the floor and popped the doors open, grabbing her shotgun and marching across the tall grass. She was gone for about an hour before she returned to the cargo van, dragging a young gecko's carcass behind her and clearing away a space in the tall grass, preparing to make a campfire.

Vulpes didn't awaken until nearly noon, and the moment his eyes drifted open, he felt heavier than ever, burning up and freezing cold at the same time.

Sandra crawled inside, now holding a gecko-ka-bob and a dirty bottle of water in either hand. She crawled into the van, sat snugly under the blanket beside Vulpes, and loomed over him.

"Hungry?" she asked, waving the gecko-ka-bob over his face.

Vulpes nodded.

"Good… then you can eat," Sandra said, pulling the food away. "_After_ you take medicine."

Vulpes squinted tiredly up at her. "What're you…?"

Sandra popped the bottle of cough syrup open, slid her hand beneath his head, and gently lifted it, pressing the bottle to his mouth and pouring the syrup down his gullet. Vulpes's face twisted up disgustingly, making her choke on a laugh.

"What is that _bile_…?" Vulpes rasped, wiping his mouth and scowling terribly.

"That's gonna break your fever, Foxxy," Sandra replied simply, handing him the water and gecko-ka-bob. "Here ya' go."

At that, Sandra crawled beneath the blankets again, wanting to sleep a little more. She curled up beside Vulpes and made herself comfortable, Vulpes munching quietly on the gecko-ka-bob and rolling his head to the side, staring into her solemnly as he did.

In the beginning, he only intended to use her as a temporary security measure until he reached his destination… but over all this time, a strange new feeling began to arise. Strange, how he seemed more captivated by her face and her silky crimson hairs than he did by his sole task of returning to the Legion. Had he started to care for her? He couldn't know…

Then again, he wouldn't have offered to bring her into the Legion with him if he didn't care at all. Perhaps there was something resembling compassion between the two of them now.

After taking a drink of water, Vulpes sighed, turning toward her and facing her fully.

Sandra's eyes eased open, meeting his, their faces barely inches apart.

"Let me ask you," he said softly. "That night, in Denver… why did you do what you did?"

Sandra stared at him solemnly. "I just felt like I had to… stop it all…"

"Not that," Vulpes clarified, searching her eyes for any hint of rhyme or reason. "You reached out… and you stopped the blast from hitting me directly. Why?"

Sandra swallowed, glancing down at the floor beside her head and gently scraping at it with her fingernail. "I don't know… I just wanted to."

"For no reason," Vulpes mumbled. "None at all…?"

Sandra made a mild shrug.

Vulpes stared into her incredibly. "I've never met anyone so willing to kill…_ and_ so willing to save… all at the same time. You are really… very… perplexing."

Sandra flashed a faint smile, reaching forward and clasping her warm hands around one of his cold ones, tightening her grasp on him.

Vulpes stared into her, their foreheads resting against one another, breaths grazing one another's faces as they moved steadily closer. As their eyes drifted shut, their lips met in a soft, tender kiss, and Sandra gave herself to him, sinking into his grasp and relishing in the comfort of his body encompassing hers. Their kiss evolved into a longer, hungrier one as Vulpes found himself on top of her, shedding his clothes before peeling hers from her curvy physique—and as the two of them lost themselves to one another, their minds went blank with a pure, euphoric joy.

They didn't resume their travels until the dawn of the following day.

The next day—both of them felt lighter, Sandra grinning at every passerby sight, Vulpes's fever fading away in no time. They marched down the broken road of east Nevada together, discussing various Latin phrases along the way.

About halfway through the day, Sandra was meandering along the side of the road, following the path of a tiny iguana that was scurrying along the grass beside the pavement. She beamed at it as she watched it crawl along beside her, Vulpes sparing her a glance and a breathless laugh, shaking his head as he continued his stride onward.

Then, something caught his eyes that made him halt on a dime.

"Sandra," he said loudly, waving for her to rejoin his side. "Come here."

Sandra perked up and wheeled around, approaching him in the middle of the road and following his trail of vision down the street ahead.

Off in the distance, a wooden wagon was approaching them, pulled by two Brahmin and accompanied by one man on foot, two more men sitting inside the wagon along with many trunks and bags of unknown supplies.

"Ooo… a caravan," Sandra smirked. "A tiny one. Maybe they're just travelers…"

"We need their wagon," Vulpes determined.

Sandra turned and squinted at him. "Why?"

"Because… if I don't return to my people soon, they'll label me as a deserter," Vulpes told her. "That's not a position_ anyone_ would want to be in. Believe me."

"Ah… let's just ask them for a ride," Sandra decided—and before he could stop her, she was sprinting toward the oncoming wagon right away.

Vulpes swore under his breath before following after her.

Sandra stopped in front of the wagon, the traveler on foot tugging on his brahmin's ropes and ordering them to stop. The two men inside the wagon stood upright, staring down at Sandra strangely.

"Hey—could you give us a ride?" Sandra asked with a whimsical smile. "We can pay you in stuff. We don't have much, but we have enough."

The man on foot traded eyes with the two in the wagon, all of them surveying Sandra more intently now.

"What do you have?" the man on foot asked.

Sandra opened her mouth to reply—and Vulpes appeared beside her, clasping a hand over her mouth and shaking his head.

"Don't answer that," Vulpes ordered, turning and meeting eyes with the man on foot. "Are you willing to trade for transportation, or not?"

The three men swapped glances again, now smiling devilishly.

"I think it'd be easier just to kill you and take your shit," the man on foot sneered.

Just when he raised his rifle—Vulpes shoved Sandra back and whipped out his pistol—

Sandra gasped—the men in the wagon leaped out and cocked their guns—

Vulpes hit the ground, narrowly dodging a bullet whizzing over his hat. He hammered the trigger from the pavement—the bullets ripping through the skull of the man on foot.

Sandra staggered away—yanking out her shotgun and blasting at the other two with haste.

The shotgun blasts tore bloody holes in their torsos, making both of them scream horrifically before collapsing to the ground.

Sandra and Vulpes quickly regrouped, Vulpes grasping her by the arm and slowly nudging her back. Sandra watched grimly, Vulpes's expression strewn with severity as the two of them watched the men die, groaning and bleeding out on the concrete.

"Come on," Vulpes uttered, nodding at the wagon.

Sandra spared the dying men a final glance before leaping into the wagon alongside Vulpes. Vulpes grabbed the rope, gave the Brahmin a hard tug to the side, and the mutant cows slowly began to turn in a wide circle, carrying the wagon off from the same direction it had come.

For a while, they rode in the wagon in silence, Vulpes sitting across from Sandra as she stared glumly down at her shotgun, once more reading the name on the side, as she often did.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Vulpes finally spoke.

"Who is that," he muttered, nodding at the shotgun. "Charon… who was he?"

Sandra stared into the gun for several more seconds, her dark expression suddenly morphing into one of despair.

"I…" she uttered sadly, a tear rolling down her cheek. "I c… can't remember…"

Vulpes observed in silence as the girl began to cry softly to herself. And then, he felt something incredibly strange, a sensation he was certain he'd never felt for anyone before.

For some reason, he wanted very much for her not to cry anymore.

He couldn't fathom why he cared for such a thing, but nevertheless, he sighed and sat on the floor of the wagon, motioning for her to join him. Sandra sat snugly beside him, Vulpes draping his arm around her and holding her close as the two of them rode across the Mojave Wasteland.

Hours passed, and Sandra rested her head on his collar, Vulpes's face pressed against the top of her smooth, crimson hair.

"I'm coming with you, Foxxy…" she breathed faintly.

Vulpes said nothing, merely stroking her arm and releasing a heavy cloud of breath. He knew full well what she meant, and quite honestly, he enjoyed the idea—returning to his Legion with a new wife on his arm, a loyal and eccentric girl with a captivating personality, and beautiful to boot.

But as the afternoon faded to evening and as the wagon carried them deeper into the Mojave, the darker thoughts of Vulpes's reality could no longer be ignored.

He held her tightly as she fell asleep in his arms, grimacing and looking more disturbed than he ever had before.

He knew what would happen if he took her back to the Legion; first and foremost, the new arrival would need to be approved by Caesar himself. Vulpes wasn't sure if His Lord would approve of his selection of a wife—and even if he did, what would become of the girl whenever Vulpes had to leave on an expedition? Sandra would be left alone in the Legion encampment, left to the mercy of the nastiest of Legionaries. Vulpes knew men like Caesar and Lucius wouldn't dare lay their hands on another Legionary's wife, but men like Antony and Sanctus? Or, God forbid, the fabeled Legate Lanius?

Vulpes stared down at the sleeping girl in his lap, grinding his teeth and feeling thoroughly, utterly conflicted.

He wanted her more than he knew, needed her nearby—and she seemed to want the same.

But taking her back to the Legion would bring more badness than it would good. That much, he knew for certain.

Then, as night fell entirely and the tower of Vegas shone in the far distance, Vulpes spotted a building up ahead—it was the only building on this road, a dark, rickety pit-stop on the fringes of the Mojave Wasteland. As the wagon rolled closer, Vulpes was able to read the sign hovering above the building's front doors. In flickering red letters, the sign read clearly;

**MOJAVE EXPRESS**.

Vulpes gulped, stared down at Sandra once more, and tugged on the ropes.

The Brahmin slowed to a stop in front of the Mojave Express, the wagon parked directly in front of the old building. Vulpes remained sitting in the wagon for what felt like years, merely gazing down at Sandra and cradling her for as long as he could.

"You're not meant for that life of mine," he murmured softly.

Vulpes easefully held her upright, planted a kiss on her lips, then gently released her, lying her on the wagon's wooden floor before slowly reaching his feet.

Adjusting his hat and giving her a final, longing stare, Vulpes leaped out of the wagon and marched off by himself, vanishing into the night and unknowingly leaving the lonely wanderer at the threshold of her new empire.


	17. Here and Now

In the aftermath of the longest night in Vegas, Gomorrah was steeped in chaos.

After her companions escorted Sandra out of the building, all the remaining staff were scrambling to figure out what had happened, customers lining up outside and trading frantic gossip with one another. The staff scoured the building, finding that all of their superiors had been killed—but the courier and her army were already safely gone from the premesis.

Mr. Burke and his group were safe and sound in the Tops—and Sandra and her companions were in the presidential suite of the Lucky 38, far from the reach of the chaos in the city down below.

Sandra still hadn't awoken from her deep sleep. She was tucked cozily into her bed in the master bedroom, Arcade tending to her by her bedside, Niner sitting on her desk and watching her with a worried expression. Melody stood on the other side of the bed, frowning as she gazed into Sandra, Scar curling up at the foot of the bed while ED-E hovered around the master bed's headboard.

And across the room, directly opposite the bed, Vulpes stood alone, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and watching Sandra sleep from a distance, his expression hardened and unreadable.

After an unbearable span of silence, Arcade turned his head, glaring into Vulpes and finally reaching his feet.

Vulpes watched the doctor approach him, showing no reaction.

Arcade stopped before him, leering into him heatedly and swatting loosely toward the bed.

"I think we're well beyond the point of giving anyone the benefit of the doubt in here," Arcade fumed through gritted teeth. "So, I'm gonna ask you this _one_ time—and I think we all _damn_ well deserve an answer by now."

He pointed firmly at the sleeping Sandra, his eyes burning into Vulpes's.

"How—in the _hell_," Arcade seethed. "Do you _know_ her?"

Vulpes returned his hot stare, sighing and hesitating.

"I don't owe you an explanation," he grumbled.

"Oh—yes you _do_," Arcade argued, releasing a mad little laugh. "You're one of the worst Legionaries_ alive_—and that girl is my_ best friend_. Whatever the _hell's_ going on between you two—_I deserve to know_."

"Yo… Doc," Niner called out. "Chill out, man."

"He _saved_ her," Melody murmured weakly.

"No—no, I don't care," Arcade griped. "Sandra's never been able to remember—but this man right here—he_ does_ remember. We've all waited long enough to know. I wanna know how a decent human being gets mixed up with a Legion_ frumentarius_. Human _quisquiliae_."

"_Human trash_?" Vulpes growled, straightening up and rounding on him. "How dare you even_ speak_ to me, you _spineless little wretch_—!"

Arcade and Vulpes clapsed each other's collars, leering hatefully into one another as Niner leaped off the desk, rushing to separate them.

And, with all the commotion, Sandra slowly began to stir awake.

"Easy, now," Niner said, glancing between the two of them and slowly prying them apart. "We all ended up on the same side, here. There ain't no reason to fight anymore."

"We have a _Legion spy_ in the goddamn house!" Arcade hollered. "Why is this bastard even _here_ right now?!"

"You watch your tongue before _I remove it_," Vulpes hissed furiously, lunging at the doctor—Niner quickly shoved him back.

Sandra sat up in bed, blinking and rubbing her eyes. She released a yawn and blinked her vision straight, eyeing the three men in front of her bed and staring at them oddly.

Niner, Arcade, and Vulpes all fell silent—Vulpes yanking out of Niner's grasp, he and Arcade both staring into her with mixed expressions.

"Arcade," Sandra murmured sleepily, speaking with an odd nonchalance. "I know you… I know you hate the Legion, but… I don't think I would've made it to the Mojave alive without him."

There was another long silence.

Vulpes inched closer, cocking his head and shooting her an investigative squint.

Sandra met his eyes and smirked.

Vulpes examined her closely for a moment, then let out a faint breath. "You remember."

"Yeah," Sandra said with a tired sigh. "I remember."

"Remember what?" Arcade asked, kneeling beside her bed again. "And are… are you feeling all right now?"

"I'm fine," Sandra assured, glancing between him and Vulpes. "I remember… vaguely… wandering into Denver and using a fat man. Blew up a bunch of Legionaries, and… Fo… Vulpes was there. Me and him were the only ones left alive, so we just… stuck together for a while."

"A_ long_ while," Vulpes mumbled.

"We protected each other… all the time," Sandra recalled, gazing down and twirling her fingers. "From animals, and assholes… and the weather."

Arcade made a thoughtful expression, glimpsing at Vulpes, then back. "Well… what happened after? How did you end up… you know… _here_?"

Sandra raised her head, meeting Vulpes's cerulean stare and seeing a strange shine of compassion amidst his gaze, which was certainly a rarity for him.

Arcade, Niner, and Melody all looked to Vulpes, as if he was the one expected to answer.

Vulpes let out a huge cloud of breath, sliding his hands into his pockets.

"Because I _left_ her here," he told them all. "Or… at the Mojave Express, rather…"

"You left her there," Arcade repeated, shooting him a doubtful stare. "You didn't kill her, or slap a slave collar on her, or cart her off to the Legion—you just left her there, free to go."

"Of _course_, you damn fool," Vulpes snapped. "I'm sure you can imagine what would've happened if I kept her _with_ me."

There was another pause, everyone in the room staring at Vulpes as if he was a bizarre anomaly.

"What?" Vulpes griped irritably, eyeing each of them with frustration. "What're you staring at?"

"It's just a little hard to believe…_ Foxxy_," Arcade said snidely, standing upright and cocking his head at Vulpes. "Because that implies that you actually_ cared_ about her… and that's a _human_ emotion. Not a _Legion _one."

"Well—I'm clearly not_ Legion_ anymore, you blasted moron," Vulpes growled.

"You're clearly not Legion anymore?" Arcade quipped sarcastically, crossing his arms and chuckling. "How the hell are we supposed to believe that?"

"_Look at me_!" Vulpes glowered, ripping his suit up and revealing all the horrific wounds strewn up and down his torso.

Instantly, they all fell silent again—Melody staring at the wounds sadly, Sandra and Niner frowning, Arcade's snide smile slowly fading away.

"This—_this_ is what the Legion does to deserters," Vulpes snarled angrily, slapping his own wounds and making Melody wince. "I nearly died a _million times_ on my way here—so don't you _dare_ patronize me, and don't you_ dare_ doubt me, because I've been through _hell_ and back and _I'll not hesitate to put you through the same torture_!"

Vulpes was barely inches away from Arcade now, utterly incensed and glaring hotly into the doctor's eyes.

Arcade's expression fell blank, no hint of doubt or sarcasm amidst his visage now. He let out a sigh, sat on the side of the bed, and swatted at Vulpes.

"All right… I believe you," Arcade muttered. "Keep your panties on. And put the rest of your clothes back on, while you're at it…"

Vulpes yanked his suit and shirt back down, huffing out an agitated breath and turning away.

"M'kay… anyway," Niner spoke up, sitting on the desk again and folding his legs. "I figure we're at a crossroad, here."

"How so?" Sandra asked.

"Well…" Niner made a sideways nod, glancing at Vulpes and stroking his soul patch. "The strip is freaking the hell out right now. I dunno if they're gonna hold a grudge on us or not, but… I vote we leave the city for a while. I'm gettin' sick of bein' cooped up here, anyway."

"Yes Man suggested bounty hunting," Sandra smirked excitedly. "As a way of getting involved with all the factions and taking out all the bad guys out there. That'll make it easier for us to restructure the region later down the road… and it'll get out out of here for a while, too."

"Hold on." Arcade's hand shot up. "We're gonna ignore the big red bull in the room?"

Once more, everyone's eyes drifted back to Vulpes.

Vulpes leaned against the wall, returning their stares and saying nothing.

Sandra sighed somberly, scooting to the edge of the bed and slowly reaching her feet. She marched across the room, approaching him and gazing up at him with a long, profound stare.

Vulpes merely returned the look, unsure of what to say or do.

"What…?" he uttered softly.

Sandra let out a laugh. "You know what we have in common? Freaking anger issues."

Vulpes narrowed his eyes oddly at her.

Sandra grinned wider. "And I think we could work out all that aggression hunting bounties for a while. If you want."

Vulpes stared into her for a moment, then scoffed out a faint little laugh. "You're so strange."

"_You're_ strange," Sandra snickered, pulling him into a hug.

Vulpes repressed a groan and bit his lip hard, not minding the pain as he returned her embrace.

Niner and Melody both smirked, Arcade staring at the two of them in utter befuddlement.

Sandra stepped back, meeting Vulpes's eyes again briefly before turning to her friends.

"I know it must be hard for you guys to see it the way I do," she said, patting Vulpes's arm. "But I trust this guy, right here. I wanna keep him with us. Is that okay with you guys?"

"Yep," Melody nodded. "I like him."

"You _do_?" Arcade uttered in astonishment. "You know who he_ is_, don't you?"

"Yeah… I seen him before," Melody informed. "He wasn't mean to me like Antony was. I think he's all right."

"I agree, kiddo," Niner affirmed with a nod. "I don't get them Legion fucks, but this guy barged into Gomorrah and stuck a knife in a guy's head. He saved Six's life right in front of us. I figure that tells us all we need to know… as long as he doesn't chase us into a nest of deathclaws again."

"No… God forbid," Vulpes uttered, remembering the encounter with the deathclaws and giving Scar a perturbed glance.

"I don't… I don't know," Arcade stammered, giving Vulpes a skeptical stare. "I really don't know, you guys."

"Look here, Doctor." Vulpes rolled his neck and stepped past Sandra, his eyes locking with Arcade's. "I_ really_ don't feel the need to explain myself to the likes of you—but I will offer you this. If I ever show any signs of treachery, you have full clearance to put a bullet in my head. All of you do."

Arcade gaped at him. "No… you wouldn't say that unless—"

"Unless I really _wasn't_ in league with the Legion anymore," Vulpes confirmed with a nod. "I have no fear and nothing to hide anymore. You can believe me or not, but that's all there is to it. Oh—and if you track down that Burke person, you can speak to his new bodyguard, the NCR sniper. He can confirm everything I told you about the Legionaries targeting me. He saw it all with his own eyes."

"Yeah, ah… I kinda already talked to that bloke," Niner muttered, scratching his neck.

Everyone stared at him.

"What?" Niner grumped. "You were out for a long time, Six—and I wanted to know where all them other people got off to. The other people that busted into that room and helped us kill the Omertas."

"What did you find out?" Arcade asked him.

"Eh… turns out, that Burke guy runs the Tops just like Big Sal said," Niner shrugged. "He told me why he got involved, and ah…"

Niner glimpsed over at Sandra, looking hesitant.

"Well… anyway, I asked them why they came in, and I asked them why they brought Vulpes with 'em," Niner explained. "That sniper bloke told me the whole story… some frumentarii attacking his ass outside Nipton… then again outside Freeside… God, you been through _hell_, man."

Vulpes stared vacantly at him. "I know. I was there."

"So… you really are," Arcade surmised, eyeing Vulpes. "You really _are_ a Legion deserter."

"I told you, Arcade," Sandra smirked happily, resting her arm on Vulpes's shoulder. "I told you he'd pick a side and do what he wanted—well, he made his choice now."

Arcade and Vulpes shared another deep glare.

Then, at long last, Arcade sighed and gave Sandra a nod. "What do I always say? Naturally… once again… I'll defer to your judgment."

Sandra beamed at him, yanking the doctor into a quick hug and feeling thoroughly delighted.

"But if he tries to kill me, I really _will_ put a bullet in his head," Arcade warned, jabbing a finger at Vulpes.

"Mutual," Vulpes snarked.

"All right—we got us a real team now," Niner grinned, clasping his hands and leaping to his feet. "Big-ass team of misfits, ready to take on the world."

"Now, hold on," Arcade said. "What're we gonna do about Melody? We can't set off to start a new career of bounty hunting with a child traveling with us."

"Why not?!" Melody protested. "I can kill people!"

Sandra and Niner laughed in unison. Arcade sighed and patted her on the head.

"I know you could," Arcade said kindly. "But what if something happens to you out there?"

"Nothing's gonna happen to me—I got you guys and I know how to use a gun," Melody argued.

Arcade prepared to reply—but Vulpes spoke first.

"That girl is a child of the Legion," Vulpes stated, revealing a small half-smile. "She can handle more than _you_ ever could, Doctor."

Arcade sealed his eyes shut and released a deep breath, slowly turning his head and giving Vulpes a flattened sort of expression.

"Can you not undermine me in front of her?" Arcade grumbled.

"Melody can hold down the fort here," Sandra decided. "I trust her with that."

"We'll have to leave the eye—er—the robot here," Arcade stated. "I can program Eddie to vaporize any intruders that might come in. Eddie can look after Melody like a little bodyguard."

"You'd better reprogram that creep outside, too," Vulpes added. "The smiley-faced one let me waltz right inside, just because I said I was Sandra's companion."

"Well… looks like my day just got booked up," Arcade sighed, grabbing ED-E and wandering out of the room. "I'll be working myself to death reprogramming every system known to man, don't mind me…"

"Hell—the rest of us better pack," Niner said, clapping and nodding as he headed out the door. "Maaan, I can't _wait_ to get this show on the road."

"I have to find another gun! I'm the guardian of the tower!" Melody exclaimed, wrapping her arms around Scar and sprinting out of the room with the baby deathclaw's tail flapping along at her ankles.

Sandra and Vulpes stood alone in silence, watching the doorway for a moment. The two of them slowly faced one another, meeting eyes once more and feeling a spark of nervous energy that hadn't existed between them for nearly five years now.

"Are we," Vulpes exhaled. "What _are_ we…?"

Sandra paused for a few seconds. Then, she smiled and scooped him into another close hug, careful not to squeeze too tight.

"We don't need a label, Foxxy," she murmured. "I don't care what we are, or what's going on… all I care about is this. We're_ here_ now. We're_ all_ here… and everything's finally okay… for now…"

Vulpes sighed heavily, placing a hand in the small of her back and gently resting his chin on her shoulder, looking and feeling more at ease than he ever had serving under the flag of the bull.

When Vulpes leaned back, he gave her another thoughtful look. "You still don't remember… anything before…?"

Sandra shook her head. "No… nothing before I met you. But that's okay. This is all I need for right now."

Vulpes nodded quietly.

Sandra then stepped back, snapping her fingers and pointing to the bed. "Now lay your ass down. I'm gonna stim you and medicate you."

"What? No," Vulpes uttered, shaking his head. "I don't need—"

"I swear to God—I will punch you in the stomach if you don't just lay the hell down," Sandra threatened, balling up a fist.

Vulpes glared at her, then released a breathless scoff. "Deja-vu."

"Yeah, no shit," Sandra cackled. "Lay down."

Vulpes sighed and rolled his eyes, sauntering over to the bed and allowing Sandra to examine every injury properly. And as she did—as Melody rushed about the suite—and as Arcade worked to reprogram Yes Man and ED-E—Niner placed his feathered fedora atop his head, strolling out of the Lucky 38 as a beautiful sunrise dawned upon the horizon above the city.

When Niner reached the outside, he glanced up, spotting the people he expected. They all arrived here on time, right at sunrise, just as they'd planned.

Mr. Burke, Sarah, Bryan, Veronica, and Boone all marched toward him.

Niner stopped a couple feet away, meeting all of their eyes and sighing deeply.

"Everything go all right?" Mr. Burke inquired. "Sandra pulling through okay?"

"Yeah… yeah, Six is fine," Niner nodded, turning to Boone. "And we cleared everything up with the ex-Legion bloke. Got it all worked out now."

"You didn't tell her anything, did you?" Mr. Burke wondered.

"Nah… I didn't," Niner answered. "Hell, after everything you told me… I figured the last thing she'd wanna do is remember."

"My thoughts exactly," Mr. Burke nodded. "That's why we're keeping our distance for now."

"So, what's next for you guys?" Sarah wondered.

"We're getting ready to head out and do some bounty hunting to clean up the Mojave," Niner explained. "Gonna try to take out all the top bad guys before the second battle for Hoover Dam comes around. That's gonna make our job way easier down the road."

"I see," Mr. Burke mumbled thoughtfully. "So, in your absence…"

"You're gonna be runnin' things here," Niner affirmed. "The doc's upstairs reprograming the system—but I already added your faces to the facial regognition database before the sun came up. Took me almost an hour to figure that shit out… but I got it done."

"So… we'll be allowed in and out of the Lucky 38?" Sarah smirked, gazing up at the tower. "That is_ so_ awesome."

"Yeah, well… I'm only trusting you because _she_ used to trust you," Niner said firmly. "And somebody oughta keep an eye on Vegas while we're gone."

"Don't worry," Bryan said. "We got your back. And we won't tell the Brotherhood anything about this, either. Not yet, anyway."

"Good, little man," Niner replied. "We all need to keep a low profile for now."

"I suppose that's it, then," Mr. Burke surmised. "When are you all leaving?"

"Soon," Niner figured. "You're free to come in once we're gone. Seeya around, folks."

He waved them off, spinning on his heel and marching back into the Lucky 38, carrying an immense weight of information as he did. When Niner first set off to find the other group, he had no clue he would run into an old companion of Sandra's from five years ago—and he definitely couldn't have known that he would be informed of Sandra's past in detail.

Now, as Niner rode the elevator back up to the suites, he pondered on all the fresh information—the Capital Wasteland, Project Purity, James, Charon, and the war that ended it all. No wonder Sandra had a habit of running away. Niner certainly couldn't blame her, especially now that he knew the full story…

By the time he returned to the suite, he plastered on his usual aloof smile, cracking jokes alongside Melody as they all rushed about, packing for their next adventure to come.

And as the first era of the courier's new misadventure slowly drew to an end, the dawn of a new adventure was just on the horizon—Sandra felt reassured of this in full the moment she and her companions marched out of Vegas's gates, their travel clothes on, their bags full, their guns loaded and their strides powerful as they finally left the city of sin behind.

Sandra, Niner, Arcade, and Vulpes crossed Freeside with Scar scuddling along at their heels, departing the city at long last and embarking into the wasteland once more.

And as they did—up high above Vegas, as Mr. Burke and his companions began their plan to run the Tops and the 38 alike—a large, balding man stood on the third floor of the Gomorrah casino, wearing a dark navy suit and glaring out his window at the Lucky 38, his pensive eyes shining with mystery as he gingerly sipped his morning coffee. The city carried on about its usual routine as the syndicate stranger observed from up high—all the while, Sandra and her friends marched across the desert with a new lease on life and a new mission at hand.

The war of change would soon daunt upon the Mojave, after all.

The time to run had passed—and on this glorious dawn, the time to solidify the future had arrived with the rising sun.

* * *

**The End**

_To be continued in the next installment of the Fallout Sandra Series, New Vegas Bounties_


	18. (From the Author)

_ From the author,_

Thank you for reading the second book of the Fallout Sandra Series! Stay tuned for book 3, New Vegas Bounties!

A shoutout to Mishaxhi on the Nexus website for making the Niner mod for Fallout New Vegas, AND for giving me permission to use Niner in my Aftermath series on webtoon!

Another shoutout to the youtuber AlChestBreach for being uplifting in general, and for being the person who originally introduced me to all the mods I use in my game, AND in my Fallout story!

Another shoutout to LegionaryH for making the Vulpes companion mod on the nexus, inspiring many adventures between my courier and her Foxxy!

And a BIG shoutout to Someguy2000, the best mod maker ever, for creating The Inheritance and the New Vegas Bounties series mods, which will HEAVILY influence the next installment of this series!

Don't forget to like, favorite, and review! It helps me out a lot!

Also, if you wanna see more written adventures of mine, check out my youtube channel Konspiracy (uploading what I want) and you'll find all the links in the video descriptions, as well as some awesome videos to watch!

My health is bouncing back and forth, but I'm the positive side right this moment, so I'm gonna use that span to write even more! Thanks for reading!

Auf Weidersien!

**EDIT: The third installment of the Fallout Sandra Series, New Vegas Bounties, has just been published! One chapter down, many more to go! Enjoy!**


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